


You're Magic To Me

by lynnt1ny



Series: Seal My Heart and Break My Pride [1]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: (skippable), Abuse, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Banter, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Denial of Feelings, Drinking, Dubcon Kissing, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Jealousy, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Merlin-Inspired, Mutual Pining, Near Death Experiences, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prince Jung Wooyoung, Protective Jung Wooyoung, Slow Burn, Tags Are Hard, Wooyoung is so fucking oblivious, author is caught between tagging potential triggers and spoiling the story, eventual magic, oh well, slooooooooow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:35:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 87,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27418123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynnt1ny/pseuds/lynnt1ny
Summary: Wooyoung didn’t know what he did to deserve such a horrible manservant. With the weight of the kingdom over his head and the constant demands of his father, he couldn’t afford to deal with this every day. But why did San have to be so bloody endearing?After a series of coincidences, San found himself stuck at the Prince’s side, day in and day out. Of course he’d accidentally fall in love along the way. San didn’t know what to expect when he moved into the castle, but it certainly wasn’t this.---Aka, my Merlin-obsessed ass decided to write a Merlin-inspired fic.
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung
Series: Seal My Heart and Break My Pride [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2104857
Comments: 172
Kudos: 221





	1. The Kindness of Strangers

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!! It’s Lyn. This is my love letter to both Ateez and Merlin. As I said in the summary, this fic is heavily inspired by BBC’s Merlin; although, it does stray from it, especially in later chapters. I wanted to put my own spin on it to see what happens! This is going to be a pretty long slow burn, so buckle up.
> 
> Special thanks to MC, who checked over the first few chapters before I posted!!
> 
> Last note to clear things up for anyone familiar with Merlin: Magic isn’t illegal in this au; it just doesn’t exist (yet) :)
> 
> Disclaimer: Everything in my writing is purely fictional!

San knew he would never forget the first time he laid eyes on the kingdom of Sinsu. He had traveled there by foot, the dusty, worn paths caking dirt onto his clothes and a small pack of his belongings on his shoulder. He knew he would never forget cresting that last hill and seeing the village buildings stretched out beneath him, flashing bright colors up at him. The castle stood tall above it all, with a courtyard full of bustling activity and tall turrets towering over it. San couldn’t help but pause in his step at the sight. He had heard stories, of course, of the lands beyond the village where he had grown up, but this went beyond anything he imagined. It was magnificent.

He took a deep breath. The soreness that had crept into his bones over the long journey faded at the sight, almost like magic. A strong wind whipped around him, and San held his dark hair out of his face, eyes never leaving the scenery below. It felt surreal to finally be there. 

Steeling himself, San made his way down towards the citadel. His heart thrummed in his chest as he went, and he thought back to the last words his mother had spoken to him before he left. 

_ Be true, San. The world is bigger than you think. You’ll be fine, as long as you stay true to yourself,  _ she had said with a smile and a pinch to his cheek.  _ Make me proud, son.  _

San’s eyes crinkled up at the memory. It was something he wanted to keep close, and drawing closer to the citadel, he couldn’t help but feel daunted by the new life he was pursuing. 

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t hear the thundering of hoof steps until a dark shape was upon him. He startled as a horse galloped past. The rider wore metal plates that clinked together as he went by. San stared after him. He wasn’t even in the citadel yet, and he had already seen a  _ knight _ . He gaped in awe at the retreating figure, already becoming only a smudge in the landscape. 

An entirely new thrill filled him as he continued walking. He couldn’t believe he was going to live in the  _ castle  _ of all places. For all he knew, he would probably meet the knights, and considering his new apprenticeship, he’d have to spend some time with them too. 

He was going to meet the  _ prince _ . 

_ Prince Wooyoung.  _

Prince Wooyoung was a constant figure in his imagination. The travelers that went through his village always said the same things: that the Prince was beautiful, regal, untouchable — that he would make a better ruler than his father ever was. San heard of Wooyoung’s accomplishments in battle, that he was the greatest warrior in the kingdom's history. One woman said that his very presence feels like a weight in the room. 

They said the Prince could make magic return to the land. 

San couldn’t help but wonder at that. For years, the same ideas circulated in his head. He thought, who could be so powerful, so inspiring, that the laws of nature could change at your will?

Everyone knew magic was a dead practice. After all these years, there was just nothing left to work with anymore. The land had been sucked dry by their predecessors, leaving them in a drought for long decades after. And apparently, this random, beautiful prince can do something about it. 

He could hear the faint clamour of activity now as he neared the gates of the city. He found himself among a small stream of people getting ready to enter. Guards stood tall at the front, checking papers and goods before allowing people through. San scrambled for the pack on his back, taking out his own identification papers. It wasn’t much — just his name and where he was from, but it was enough to get into the outer town. 

And then he was finally there. 

Stepping through the gates was cathartic. He felt overwhelmed by the amount of color and the loud voices that met him, yet he didn’t feel unwelcome. There was something homey about it- vendors calling out to passerbys, the children running after one another in the streets, and the swarm of people walking around. This was something he could get used to. 

San headed straight forward in the direction of the castle. He knew he would only get sidetracked if he looked around, and there would be plenty of time to explore later—at least, he hoped there would be. 

He didn’t know what his apprenticeship would entail, or what his work days would look like. All he knew was that the court physician was a friend of his mother’s and that he wrote her, saying he was struggling to find a trustworthy apprentice willing to learn the trade of medicine. It wasn’t like San was fond of medicinal practices, but it was an enormous opportunity to secure a place in the King’s court, to live in the castle and receive hot meals straight from the kingdom’s best cooks. San’s mother urged him to go, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel drawn to the castle himself. 

So after many goodbyes and a promise to write every week, he was finally here. 

He heard a roar of laughter as he passed a large building in the middle of the citadel. He smiled to himself, knowing that he had just found the tavern. Maybe someday he’d visit in an attempt to befriend more people in the area. Who knows, maybe he’ll fall in love? His mother certainly wanted him to. For the past few years, she had been pushing him to talk to women in the village, and later, when she learned his preferences, the other men. Nothing ever clicked for him despite this. He wouldn’t call himself a hopeless romantic, but there had to be  _ someon _ e in these dense crowds for him- his other half, his soulmate. 

He passed a few more guards before entering the main courtyard. They scrutinized his papers, now including a letter from the court physician, and rummaged around his belongings before allowing him through. San assumed they weren’t used to seeing complete strangers near the castle, though glancing at the sheer amount of people around him, he couldn’t be so sure. New faces were rare in his village, at least. 

San saw an entrance to the interior of the castle across the cobbled courtyard floor. He fidgeted with the straps of his bag as he walked over and glanced inside. He felt completely clueless. He considered going back and asking the guards to point him in the right direction, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

He hesitated before walking in. The corridors stretched far across, constructing a small maze. He wandered through them, looking for any clue to show him where to go. He didn’t know what he was looking for, really. It wasn’t like there were signs hanging on the stone walls to point him in the right direction. Occasionally, he passed open doorways and servants scurrying on their way. However, every time he opened his mouth to say something, they were gone — heads down and shoulders hunched. 

Eventually he found someone who looked somewhat approachable. There was one man who leaned back against a wall with a gentle smile. He gestured for San to come closer, and seeing nothing else to do other than aimlessly wander, San found himself walking over to him. The man had curiously high cheekbones and an almost bird-like appearance. He wore peasant clothes, yet he didn’t seem like the other servants he had come across so far. 

“You seem lost,” the man said when San paused in front of him. 

“You could say that,” San replied. “My name is San.” 

“Okay, San. I’m Seonghwa. Is there something I could help you with?” 

He felt a flood of relief. Seonghwa seemed comforting, in a way, and San got the feeling that he was in good hands. 

“Do you know where I can find Hongjoong? The court physician?” he asked. Seonghwa’s eyes lit up at the name. 

“Oh, yes, everyone knows Hongjoong,” Seonghwa said. “Are you the new apprentice? I think he mentioned you the other day.” 

“Yep, that’s me!” San said. 

“How’s your first day in Sinsu so far?” 

San smiled. “Honestly, I’m slightly overwhelmed.” 

Seonghwa gave him a kind smile. “That’s understandable. Here, I’ll take you to Hongjoong.” Seonghwa pushed off against the wall and started walking away, San following close behind. 

“So, um, Seonghwa? What do you do around here?” San asked. “You don’t seem like everyone else I’ve seen so far,” 

Seonghwa gestured to this plain clothes. “I’m a servant,” he chuckled. “But a higher ranking one. I work directly under the King’s ward.” 

San whistled through his teeth. Someday, he’d have to learn the inner workings of the caste system here. It seemed important in the castle, from what he could see. “How’s that like then?” he asked, curious about the daily life of a high-ranking servant. 

“Well, I’m stuck cleaning up after him,” Seonghwa said. “The nobles here are completely useless without us. Without me, he wouldn’t be able to get out of bed in the morning.” 

“I’ve never met a nobleman,” San said. 

Seonghwa shrugged. “They’re nothing special. Most of them are tolerable, others not so much.” He turned into another hallway, and San struggled to memorize the route they were taking to the physician’s chambers. “I got lucky with my assignment.” 

They stopped in front of a large oak door. “And here we are,” Seonghwa said. He pushed through, stepping aside to let San peek through. 

It was a cozy room, with bottles lining the shelves on the walls and large bookshelves in the corners. Cots, workbenches, and medical instruments lay scattered everywhere. A small fire roared in the corner, keeping away the chill of the day. A small man sat at a desk, sorting through supplies. He was younger than San expected. He could only be a few years older than himself. San wondered how he came to know his mother, and how he could have such a prominent position at a young age. 

“Hongjoong, your apprentice has arrived,” Seonghwa called. 

The physician looked up and smiled. “San! You’re here!” 

San gave a small smile in return.

He felt Seonghwa nudge his back, pushing him into the room. “I have to return to my duties,” the older mumbled. “Good luck, San. It was nice meeting you.” 

San watched his retreating figure. There was something inherently  _ different _ about Seonghwa, in the way he glided across the floor when he walked, like a dancer- in the way he kept his shoulders held high while the other servants stared down at the floor. San wanted to be like him, he thought. Seonghwa didn’t act like he was beneath anyone else. If anything, he seemed almost like royalty. 

“Your mother’s told me a lot about you,” Hongjoong said, breaking San out of his thoughts. 

San turned back. Hongjoong stood in front of him now, hands in the pockets of his trousers and spectacles pushed up onto his head. His brown hair was brushed back and verging on a mullet in the back. “Only good things, I hope,” San said. 

“Of course,” Hongjoong smiled. He gestures to a door in the back of the room. “I’ve converted an old storage room into a makeshift bedroom. It may not be much, but it should have all the necessities. If you ever need anything else, don’t hesitate to ask.”

San nodded. “So, as an apprentice, how should I start?” he asked. He looked forward to getting some work to do. He itched to get his hands on something- to  _ explore _ . 

“I actually need to run an errand right now,” Hongjoong said. “In the meantime, the first thing you should do is familiarize yourself with the castle. I have a few maps that could help. Maybe you could fetch a jug of water by the time I get back? There’s a pump in the courtyard.” 

“Yes! I could do that,” San said. The task was exactly what San wanted to hear. 

Hongjoong nodded, a satisfied look on his face. “Good. And then get some rest. You’ve had a long journey. Tomorrow, the actual work will start.” 

Hongjoong handed San some old parchment, telling him to make himself at home, before leaving with a wave. 

“See you in a bit!” he called. 

Finding himself alone again, San crept into the backroom to take a look at his new living quarters. It was nothing special, as Hongjoong had said, but it was nice and cozy. A small bed took up a corner, and there were plenty of shelves and drawers to store items in. San appreciated the time it must have taken to clean the area up, as it was spotless and tidy. He couldn’t have asked for anything better. 

He sat his bag on the bed and went back out into the main chambers. He spread the papers Hongjoong had handed him on a desk and analyzed them. He picked out one map that seemed the easiest to understand. The castle really was  _ huge _ . It surprised San to see that the physicians' chambers weren’t too far from the royal family themselves. It would only take a few minutes to walk straight to the King’s private rooms if he wanted to. The thought was both exciting and terrifying at the same time. On the ground floor of the castle, San saw the great hall. It stretched large, almost bigger than the courtyard itself. The throne room sat to its left, reserved for audiences with the King. 

San traced the path he needed to take to get to the courtyard, mentally taking notes on each turn. He felt somewhat confident when the door swung open. San startled up from the map, his eyes wide and his jaw dropping. At the entrance of the room, he saw the most beautiful man he’d ever seen. Granted, he was limited to those from his village and the few faces he’d glimpsed on the way here, but that did nothing to quell his soft gasp. 

The man had soft, blonde hair that fell in a way that nicely framed his face, and he wore a rich, blue top that exuded wealth. A gold chain circled his neck, and he carried himself with a sense of dignity. San couldn’t help but feel slightly intimidated when he caught the man’s eye. 

“Ah, hello, is Hongjoong here?” The man asked. His voice had a deeper tone to it, and it had a strangely calming effect on San. 

“No, he just went out on an errand.” San replied. He gave a slight smile. “If it’s important, I can try to find him real fast, but I can’t make any promises. This place is like a maze to me.” 

The man tilted his head and looked at San with a curious glint in his eye. “No, it’s nothing important. You’re new, right?” 

San stumbled to his feet and walked over, sticking out his hand. “Yeah, um, I’m San.” The man in front of him  _ had _ to be the prince. He was pretty enough to be one, and the fancy clothes he wore... 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the man said and took San’s outstretched hand, giving it a slight squeeze. 

“In my village, they always described the prince with dark hair, not blonde.” The words left San before he could stop them, and he almost clapped a hand over his mouth.. 

The man (Wooyoung?) squinted his eyes, and his lips curled in a small smile. “He  _ does _ have dark hair.” 

San stared at him, not quite processing what he said. “So, uh, you’re not—”

“I’m Yeosang, the King’s ward.” 

San paused. “Ah.”

Yeosang burst into laughter. “Wow, wait until I tell Wooyoung about  _ this _ .”

San gaped at him. “You, you can’t walk in here looking like  _ that _ and expect me not to think you’re royalty,” he spluttered. “And Wooyoung, as in, Prince Wooyoung?” He winced, not wanting the Prince’s first impression of him to be that of a fool. “Please don’t tell him about this.” 

Yeosang just kept laughing. “A second ago, you thought  _ I _ was Wooyoung.” He put a hand on San’s shoulder. “But for future reference, when you  _ do _ meet Wooyoung, I would use proper titles. He’s a stickler for customs. He’ll bite your head off otherwise.” 

“Oh, right,” San said. Yeosang seemed to be close with Wooyoung, which made sense. If Yeosang was the King’s ward, that meant they had grown up with each other here, in the castle. “Um, what’s he like, if you don’t mind me asking?” 

“Wooyoung?” Yeosang rolled his eyes and said, “He’s an ass. I wouldn’t have high expectations if I were you. Why, are you nervous to meet him? I could introduce you if you’d like.” 

“No, no, no, that’s okay.” San didn’t think he was ready to meet the prince just yet- not when he was still floundering about the castle and tripping over his own feet. “I’m sure I’ll run into him eventually.” 

Yeosang nodded. “Good luck for when you do, then.” 

San smiled gratefully. “So, what brings you here today? You were asking for Hongjoong?” 

“It’s really nothing important,” Yeosang said. “Sometimes I just come in here to talk to him. It helps ease my mind.” 

“You two are good friends, then?” 

“Hongjoong is a friend to everyone,” Yeosang looked around the room with a fond look in his eyes. “You’re in good hands, San.”

To be honest, San had gotten that impression back when he was talking to Seonghwa. The people here were so  _ kind. _

And then something  _ clicked, _ and San felt dumb for not putting two and two together earlier. “Seonghwa serves under you, right?” he questioned. 

Yeosang’s eyes widened at the sudden change of topic. “Yes, he does. I’m guessing you’ve met him?” 

“Yes, sorry, I just realized it.” 

Yeosang laughed. “Nothing to be sorry for, San,” he said. “But speaking of Seonghwa, I should probably go find him now.”

San nodded. “Well, don’t let me keep you.” 

“It’s nice to meet you.” 

And then Yeosang left. 

San let out a deep breath. Yeosang was the first noble he had ever met, and he found himself pleasantly surprised. San could tell that they’d become good friends over time, once the initial awkwardness left. San’s cheeks still burned for mistaking him as the prince. 

He figured he should go do Hongjoong’s request and collect some water. He scoured the map one last time and grabbed a pitcher Hongjoong had pointed out to him earlier. Hopefully this time, he wouldn’t get himself lost.

Finding the courtyard and the water pump was the simple part. What San hadn’t accounted for was the trip  _ back.  _

He retraced his steps, reversing the order of turns in his head as he walked. He wouldn’t call himself  _ utterly _ lost, just slightly confused. As he found himself deeper in the castle, he felt even more unsure of his location. 

Eventually, he came upon the last turn he thought he needed to take. Hopefully, all he needed to do was round  _ that _ corner and he’ll see the familiar oak doors of the physician’s chambers. 

But just as he got there, he crashed straight into someone’s chest. The pitcher clattered to the floor, and San stumbled back before following it, landing with a loud  _ thump _ . Water spread rapidly across the stone flooring. 

“Watch where you’re going!” San heard a voice call above him. The voice was stern — condescending, almost, and it immediately made San want to punch someone in the face. 

“Watch wher-  _ I’m _ the one on the floor!” San spluttered. He got to his feet and brushed off his pants. He froze when he saw a damp patch of water on the shirt in front of him, a deep purple, and he slowly brought his gaze up to see the unfortunate person he had spilt water over. 

San gulped, wondering why everyone in this castle had to be so  _ pretty _ .

“Any damage from this is coming straight out of  _ your  _ pockets.” 

“Damage? It’s just water,” San replied. 

The man in front of him narrowed his eyes. He had dark hair that curtained the sides of his face, and San felt the sudden urge to brush it behind his ear. He wore a purple v-neck, the sleeves tight around his wrists, and his eyes bored into San with a mixture of shock and contempt. The back of San’s neck prickled, and he felt his fight-or-flight response kick in. 

“You don’t know who you’re talking to, do you?” The man sneered. 

San steeled himself against the man’s sudden glare. He had to fight against a knot in his throat to speak. “I’m sure I’d remember meeting an arrogant  _ twat _ like yourself,” he said. 

“I could have you thrown in the dungeons for that.” A hint of fear sparked in the back of San’s mind. That was meant to be a joke, right?

“Now, uh, that wouldn’t be very nice?” 

_ Nice one, San. _

“Address me properly, and I may let you off the hook.” The man tilted his head to the side, as if San was a puzzle that needed to be solved. “Surely, you recognize nobility when you see it, hm?” 

San could do nothing but stare at the way his hair followed the movement, the urge to  _ touch _ it growing stronger. 

He felt frozen to the spot- a deep-set anger simmering under his skin at the way he was being talked down to, at the way this man looked at him. But there was something magnetic about it, and he didn’t want to admit that this man  _ scared _ him at the same time. 

It all came together then: Dark hair; expensive clothing; the commanding glare; being an  _ ass _ , as Yeosang had put it earlier. 

_ This was Wooyoung.  _

“You know, I didn’t expect you to be so short,” San blurted. He stood only less than an inch above Wooyoung, but the height was there nonetheless. San furrowed his eyebrows. This was  _ Wooyoung. His _ Wooyoung. The one he had been dreaming of meeting since he was a little boy. 

Wooyoung’s face twisted up in frustration. San wondered what other faces he could coax out of him. “You can’t say things like that,” Wooyoung spluttered. 

“O-Oh, sorry,” San replied. “I didn’t expect you to be so short,  _ sire _ .” 

Wooyoung gaped at him. San saw him flounder for a response, his mouth opening and closing on repeat, and while San knew he should probably start making his way back to collect water again, he indulged himself in watching the  _ Prince _ speechless. 

Now  _ this _ was something he could get used to. 

Eventually, Wooyoung collected himself. “If my father heard you saying things like that, he’d have you flogged,” he hissed. San’s eyes widened as Wooyoung continued, “And while I understand the importance of harsh discipline, I’d say a night in the stocks would be sufficient.” 

If there was one flaw San could get rid of, it would be his impulsiveness. It had gotten him into a lot of trouble in the past, but it was not something he could easily turn off. It had caused him to say things he would later regret; it made him act on his thoughts without fully understanding the consequences behind them; and it was kicking in now, in front of one of the most important people in the kingdom. 

“My face is too pretty to have fruit thrown at it,” San said. “But not as pretty as yours, that’s for sure.” 

Damn. He almost got a smile with that one. The corner of Wooyoung’s mouth twitched up, but his eyes stayed narrowed. 

Wooyoung leaned in ever so slightly. “If you’d like to stay here, in  _ my _ castle. You’ll need to learn your place,” he said. “But for now..” The asshole had the audacity to  _ smirk.  _ “I’ll let you go without punishment. Just this once.” 

San let a smile spread across his face. It didn’t reach his eyes, and Wooyoung could probably see through its fake sincerity. “Thank you for your mercy,  _ sire. _ It won’t be forgotten.” 

Wooyoung’s jaw visibly clenched as San turned to leave. 

“Until we meet again, my lord.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s Chapter One! Please don’t hesitate to tell me what you think in the comments. This is my first time writing a long chaptered fic, so I’m open to criticism (as long as it’s constructive). Thanks for reading, and I hope you’re excited for what’s to come! 
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/lynnt1ny) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/lynnt1ny)


	2. The Nightmare Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At one point, Wooyoung entertained the idea of having Dimples as his manservant instead of the usual fodder... And then he dropped the thought immediately. If he saw those eyes first thing every morning, he’d probably go insane. 
> 
> Those eyes made him want to punch a wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m back! I’m introducing multiple points of view to the story. Hopefully, it’ll turn out the way I want it to. Also, enter: King Beomseok, the hardest OC I’ve ever written (not that I’ve written any OCs in the first place).

After a week of gathering herbs from the surrounding forests and learning about a variety of afflictions and remedies, San felt pretty accustomed to life at the castle. It was hard-going at first: He still occasionally found himself lost in the maze of corridors, but he hadn’t run into any royals or knights after the first day, so he’d call it a win. 

Hongjoong was, as he was told earlier, the perfect mentor. San couldn’t have asked for better. Hongjoong clearly loved his work, and while San couldn’t quite replicate his passion for medicine, Hongjoong was a constant source of energy and inspiration. 

Every day, San looked forward to sitting by the fire with Hongjoong in the evenings, sometimes with Yeosang popping in to say hello. It was almost familial, and San finally felt like he had carved a place for himself in the castle. 

Hongjoong took care of most of the patients that had come in so far, but San was always there, watching. He was constantly in awe of how calm and gentle Hongjoong was with those who came in. Now, he knew exactly how Hongjoong got both his position and well-rounded reputation. 

However, today, Hongjoong was going to attend to the King. 

San sat at one of the desks in the chamber, a book open in front of him. He deliberately avoided Hongjoong’s eye. He hoped today would be the exception to their new routine; hopefully, today, he wouldn’t have to go with him. 

Hongjoong walked over and placed a hand on San’s shoulder, and San gave him a tentative smile. 

“I suppose I won’t get this day off?” 

“No.” Hongjoong replied. “You must be able to treat the King if something happens while I’m away.” 

“You’re going away?” San asked. A knot of worry formed in his stomach. He didn’t think he’d be able to shoulder Hongjoong’s workload so early. 

But his worry disappeared as Hongjoong laughed. “Not now. But something may happen while I’m down in the lower villages or really, anywhere else other than the castle.” He smiled sympathetically. “That’s why you’re here, you know. I can’t be everywhere at once, and in case of an emergency…” he shrugged. 

And now, that’s how San found himself trailing behind Hongjoong, a crate of supplies in his arms and a furrow between his eyebrows. 

He couldn’t believe that he was mere footsteps away from meeting King Beomseok. 

Beomseok was well known even beyond the borders of Sinsu. While nobody said he was downright cruel, he was known to have a temper. He ruled with an iron fist, and he had brought Sinsu many years of prosperity, conquering lands and expanding the kingdom to great lengths. 

Far too soon, they stopped in front of a pair of fortified doors. A clump of guards stood there, nodding to Hongjoong as they walked past. 

“Remember to address him properly,” he whispered to San. “It’d be best to leave a good first impression.” 

San nodded, and Hongjoong knocked on the door. “Kim Hongjoong, Your Majesty,” he called out. “And my new apprentice.” 

“Yes, come in,” San heard a deep voice respond, muffled by the barrier. 

The doors creaked as the guards pushed them open, standing to the side to allow them entrance. San gulped as Hongjoong walked in, and he hesitated before following behind. By the end of this, he just knew that he’d mess this up: he’ll drop the supplies, or he’ll trip over his own feet and make a fool of himself. Or worse of all: he’ll let his mouth run away again, just as it had with the Prince. 

The thought came to him then- Wooyoung wouldn’t tell his father about what happened earlier, right? Yes, he was only an apprentice, but not only had San spilt water all over his clothes, but he called him a  _ twat _ of all things. 

_ ‘If my father heard you saying things like that, he’d have you flogged.’ _

San knew he was breathing heavily now. He hoped the weight in his arms and the flight of stairs worked as a fair excuse, but he did what he does best: overthink things until it sent him into a panic. 

If Wooyoung _ did  _ tell Beomseok, something would have happened by now, right? Yes, he was definitely overthinking this. There was no way Wooyoung even knew who he was, right? He didn’t remember saying his name...

The King’s chambers were unlike anything San had seen before. Everywhere he looked, he could only see wealth and intricacies. The room itself was huge. Inside, it had a large bed in the corner, a table with neat stacks of paper adorning it, and a long dining table, gilded in gold. Wardrobes and shelves took up space along the walls, and everything was pristine. San didn’t think he’d be able to find one speck of dust. Overall, it seemed very practical for living’s quarters, but it exuded a sense of affluence at the same time. 

The man himself sat at his table. He didn’t look like San imagined he would. The King had dark hair, like his son, and he wore simple attire at the moment. Deep-set wrinkles betrayed his age, and his eyes held a somber edge to them. Beomseok scratched thoughtfully at a trace of stubble on his chin and kept his focus on his work. The lack of attention only unnerved San even more. 

“Your Majesty,” Hongjoong began. “What can I do for you today?” 

Without looking up, Beomseok beckoned them closer and said, “Draw yourself some chairs and sit.” 

Hongjoong bowed deeply and took a chair from the dining table. San scurried after him to do the same. Before he knew it, he was uncomfortably close to the King, sitting across from him. He prayed that Beomseok wouldn’t pay him any attention.

“I’ve had the worst migraine today,” Beomseok finally said. He looked up at them then, and San felt a chill down his spine when his beady eyes landed on him. “Do you have a sufficient tonic that could help?” 

Hongjoong nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty, I do.” He gestured for San to hand him the crate of supplies. With nothing to do with his hands now, San wrung his fingers together, avoiding the King’s eyes.

“With all due respect, what has been causing you trouble, Your Highness?” Hongjoong said as he picked out a few bottles. “Learning the cause of a migraine is a simple way to fix it.”

San almost gasped at the question. It seemed too invasive to ask the  _ King.  _ A new batch of butterflies set loose in his stomach, and not the good kind.

However, Beomseok didn’t seem to be too bothered by the question. He even  _ smiled _ at Hongjoong, like they were old friends. San shouldn’t be surprised at this point- as literally  _ everyone _ had said, Hongjoong was friends with  _ everyone, _ and it seemed the King was no exception. 

Suddenly, Hongjoong’s strangely calm demeanor in this situation made a lot more sense. 

“It’s my son,” Beomseok said. “He can’t seem to keep a manservant in his service. At this point, we’ve gone through all the available servants I can trust with the job.” 

His words didn’t surprise San at all. Just from one meeting, San knew  _ he _ wouldn’t want to be stuck with Wooyoung for long periods of time either. 

“It’s such a trivial matter, but it’s becoming such a nuisance that even I must get involved.” 

Hongjoong began mixing a small concoction in a cup. San vaguely recognized a few of the ingredients Hongjoong had put in the tonic, but his attention was too skewed to learn anything useful now.

“Are they leaving on their own accord?” Hongjoong asked. 

Beomseok leaned back against his chair. San saw the King eyeing his fidgeting hands, and San now focused on keeping them still on his lap. 

“No, Wooyoung is getting rid of them himself. He claims they’re too boring. I’m afraid he’s set his standards too high for our working class,” Beomseok said. 

San winced, stealing another glance at Hongjoong, but the man had a smile on his face. “I’m sure he’ll find someone to take the position. There are many able-bodied men in the kingdom,” Hongjoong said.

“And here, the source of the problem,” Beomseok said. “He refuses to find a replacement. I will have to resort to finding one for him myself. It’s no job for a king.” Beomseok’s eyes turned dark for a second, and San could see a flash of rage there, so fleeting that he would have missed it if he were not paying close attention. “If I, the King himself, assigns Wooyoung a manservant, that position must stay permanently filled by that man, or consequences may be in order.” 

San’s breath hitched, the words sending a faint wave of fear over him. He understood why, though. It would be a blow to Beomseok’s reputation if Wooyoung sacked the one man the King picked out himself. Involving the King in such a trifling matter was bad enough. The whole thing made San’s head spin, and he understood the source of Beomseok’s migraine. 

“Well, I may not be able to help in the matter directly, but this is the least I can do,” Hongjoong said, handing the completed tonic to the King. “If there’s anything else I can do to help, don’t hesitate to call.” 

San felt relieved, as the conversation seemed to be ending, and they were soon to be on their way. The King only had to dismiss them, and he could go back and be anywhere but  _ here. _

Beomseok’s gaze snapped to him, then. “Before you leave, Hongjoong, this is your new apprentice?” he asked. 

“Yes, Your Majesty.” 

Beomseok scrutinized him, his narrowed eyes sending waves of panic over San. “Does he speak?” 

San’s breath hitched, and he hurried to say, “Yes, I’m Choi San.” He stumbled over the words.

Hongjoong kicked his shin. 

“Your Highness,” San tacked on at the last second. “I arrived only a few days ago.” 

“Arrived?” Beomseok lifted a dark eyebrow and looked back at Hongjoong. San allowed himself to take a deep breath with those calculating eyes off of him. 

“I met his mother during one of my visits to the lower towns,” Hongjoong said. “We’ve become close, and I can assure you of his loyalty to the crown.” 

“I’ll hold you to it,” the King said. “But I’m afraid anything he does will reflect onto you, and any form of dissent on his end will damage your position in my court.” 

Hongjoong nodded, and for the first time since they walked in, his calm demeanor broke, and San could see his shoulders tense. 

The King laughed. 

“Don’t worry, old friend. I like him already. I can tell he has many qualities an apprentice, or servant, should have.” San let himself give the King a small smile at the words, though it felt forced to him and probably came across that way as well. 

“That’s very kind of you, Your Majesty,” Hongjoong said. 

The King nodded, and after a slight pause, he clapped his hands together. “Well, I believe that is all. You’re both dismissed.” 

Both San and Hongjoong stood, the former stumbling slightly, and took their leave after a quick bow. San let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding after they crossed the doorway, the guards watching as they made their way back to the physician’s chambers. 

“Well, that could have gone a lot worse,” Hongjoong said, closing the door behind them.

“That’s for sure.” 

“You know, you don’t have to be so afraid of him,” Hongjoong said. “As long as you’re in his good graces, there’s nothing to fear.” 

San thought back to his encounter with Wooyoung. He didn’t have the best track record with royals, and he definitely didn’t want to test that with the King. 

“I’m not sure if it’ll be easy for me to stay in his ‘good graces,’” San mumbled. 

The sun had begun its descent, and it bathed the familiar room in a golden glow. San fell back into one of the cots and let out a groan. He couldn’t help but let his eyelids droop, the events of the day wearing him thin. 

“Hey, I’m going to go fetch some soup from the kitchens. Why don’t you take some time to rest?” Hongjoong said, seeming unaffected by everything. 

“Gladly.” 

(。-`ω´-)

Wooyoung was stressed. 

The knights were doing well in training, that was for sure, but there was something  _ missing _ . There was a certain clumsiness to the blows and drills today, and every wrong movement caught Wooyoung’s eye. He found himself on edge for the entirety of today’s training. 

It didn’t help that there was no one there to clean or hold his equipment. Of course, it was technically his fault, but who could blame him? The last few servants he’d gone through were completely worthless. 

But as much as he wanted the endless drills to end, he dreaded what would come after. His father had asked to dine with him after the session, and he  _ never _ looked forward to those talks. 

Wooyoung weaved his way between his sparring knights. They were practicing simple drills, but tiring and repetitive ones at that. Drops of sweat dripped down their faces, and the field was full of heaving breathing and the clang of metal. The sky darkened, and Wooyoung knew he couldn’t drag this out any longer. 

“Hold,” he called out, and around him, the knights ceased in their actions. Wooyoung felt their attention shift to him, all eyes in his direction. “That will be all for today. Get some rest. We have a lot of kinks to work out tomorrow.” 

At the dismissal, the field cleared as the men dispersed. Wooyoung caught the eye of Jongho, one of his best knights, and he gave him a slight nod. Jongho had been the only knight who had come close to beating him in combat today. Wooyoung’s arms still ached from blocking his blows. Wooyoung saw a lot of potential in him, and he knew Jongho would grow to become one of Sinsu’s best. 

Wooyoung had a tight-knit group of knights whom he trusted the most, Jongho being one of them. While all the knights swore loyalty to the King, there were a few whose allegiance fell to Wooyoung. If Wooyoung ever were to defy his father, he knew those few knights would follow him to the ends of the earth.

He gave Yunho and Mingi a slight wave as he walked past. He carried his own equipment, and again, he cursed the servants he had dismissed. 

Wooyoung had a sneaking suspicion that this was what his father wanted to talk to him about- his obvious lack of a servant would be sure to turn some heads. Not only that, but his chambers were getting cluttered with no one there to clean them. 

He reached the pavilion that housed all of their training equipment and tossed everything aside. Someone else would take care of it at some point. He struggled out of the armor, fiddling with all of the buckles and straps that he never took the time to familiarize himself with. Once again, that was a servant’s job, he thought with a frown. 

He needed to stop by his rooms and freshen up before meeting his father. On the way, his thoughts wandered. He noticed that it happened a lot in the past week- He’d be busy doing something important — whether his own duties or an order from his father — and then a certain face would pop into his thoughts, usually accompanied with a snarky voice and an impish smile. 

The truth was, he still hadn’t recovered from his encounter with Dimples (the nickname sounded so _ stupid _ in his head, but in his defense, he didn’t have much to work with). 

There was something so  _ irritating _ about him, yet there was something so compelling at the same time. Wooyoung found himself looking all the serving boys in the face now, hoping to catch a familiar one, but all he could see were the same, boring, submissive eyes.

There was one time he thought he heard Dimples’ voice, but when he rounded the corner, it was just Yeosang snickering to himself in the hallway, footsteps echoing in the opposite direction. He thought about asking Yeosang about it, but he decided against it. Yeosang would definitely press him on  _ why _ he was asking, and Wooyoung wouldn’t have an answer for him. 

At one point, Wooyoung entertained the idea of having Dimples as his manservant instead of the usual fodder... And then he dropped the thought immediately. If he saw those eyes first thing every morning, he’d probably go insane. 

Those eyes made him want to punch a wall. 

But for now, he needed to forget about Dimples. He needed to dine with his father, and he needed to better himself as a prince for his people (minus Dimples; he could go rot in hell). 

When Wooyoung walked into Beomseok’s rooms, the King was already eating at the dining table. 

“You’re late,” his father said. A plate had already been prepared for Wooyoung at his father’s side: bread, cheese, a few vegetables, and a slab of beef, spiced so heavily that Wooyoung could smell it from the doorway.

“My apologies, I had a few complications,” Wooyoung said. 

Beomseok narrowed his eyes, and Wooyoung gulped. He waited until his father spoke again. 

“Come. Sit.” 

Wooyoung sat at the table and dug into the food. They settled into a silence. Wooyoung wouldn’t call it a comfortable one, but the King didn’t seem too irritated at the moment. Wooyoung felt his nerves settle. Next to him, Beomseok cleared his throat. 

“Hongjoong has a new apprentice,” his father said. “Have you met him?” 

“No, I’m afraid not,” Wooyoung said. He wasn’t close to Hongjoong- not like Yeosang or the rest of the bloody castle. Hongjoong even had Wooyoung’s father wrapped around his finger. Sometimes, Wooyoung thought Beomseok wished Hongjoong were his son instead of himself, but he cast those thoughts aside as soon as they came up. “I’m sure he’ll do well as long as Hongjoong keeps him out of trouble,” he added on. 

“I doubt he will get into any. He was the epitome of a perfect servant.” 

Wooyoung’s eyes almost bugged out of his head. Coming from his father, that was high praise. Something almost like jealousy turned his stomach, but he ignored it. 

“Oh? What makes you think so?” Wooyoung swallowed around his fork, his interest peaked about the new apprentice. To catch the King’s eye was a big deal. 

“He doesn’t speak unless spoken to, and to be an apprentice for Hongjoong, he must be competent,” the King said. “What more could you ask?” 

Oh. 

So this apprentice was just like the others. 

Wooyoung felt his curiosity drain immediately. Of course, that was all his father cared about. To be honest, those were the exact qualities he had sent the others away for. 

“Why, may I ask, are we talking about the physician’s apprentice? Is there another matter you wish to discuss?” 

“That’s just the thing. You’ve exhausted all of our options,” the King said. “You know exactly where this conversation is going, Jung Wooyoung.” 

Wooyoung desperately tried to think of excuses to get out of this, but the entire ordeal was useless. “But he already has a position?” he said. His voice grew squeaky the way it usually does when he gets nervous; a trait he’d spent years trying to beat out of his system to no avail. “He has a good place in court. Stripping him of that would be cruel.” 

The King shook his head. “A place in the royal household is respected, even as a servant.” He took a sip of wine. “And I think we can all agree that Hongjoong is too young to have an apprentice now. It isn’t urgent.”

Wooyoung grimaced.

“You leave me no choice, Wooyoung. You’ve rejected our best servants, and this is a problem that needs to be resolved quickly. I don’t have time to mull over the choices for you.” Beomseok’s voice grew agitated, and Wooyoung shrank back. “I am the  _ King _ . This is not something I should be doing for you. If I hear that you’re unsatisfied, there will be consequences for  _ both _ of you.” 

Wooyoung set his fork down, his appetite lost. “Hongjoong was clearing out his storage for an apprentice,” he mumbled. “Are you going to kick him out of his living quarters as well?” 

Beomseok scoffed. “That’s a matter he must settle with Hongjoong. I don’t have time to care.” 

Wooyoung’s fists clenched on his lap, and his nails bit into his palms. He knew he needed a servant, but this seemed… so  _ unfair _ . If his father had met the apprentice only a few days later, yes, Wooyoung would probably be stuck with someone just as incompetent, but at least it would be a proper servant- not someone who had come to their kingdom to learn a dignified practice. He couldn’t help but feel a strong pang of sympathy, something his father would ridicule him for if he knew. 

“I am calling for him tomorrow and giving him one day to prepare. You can expect him the day after,” Beomseok said. 

After a sigh of defeat, Wooyoung nodded. He could never argue with his father on something like this. He’ll have to live with it. Who knows, maybe the apprentice won’t be  _ that _ bad. Hongjoong picked him, after all. Wooyoung will have to make the most of it. 

“Can I at least have his name?” he asked. He stared down at the half-eaten plate. A part of him was glad his meals would once again be hand delivered, but the  _ guilt _ ; it wouldn’t go away. 

The King paused for a moment. “I think he said his name was San.” Another sip of wine. “Ah, yes, I remember now. Choi San.” 

_ Choi San.  _

“Is he good looking, at least?” Wooyoung asked in an attempt to lift the mood. His father didn’t have the best sense of humor, or any at all, for that matter, but he could  _ try.  _

Beomseok seemed to catch on, though, and he hummed, slouching a little in his chair. “How would I know?” 

“No apparent qualities? That’s a shame. I hope you aren’t sticking me with a troll,” Wooyoung muttered. He took his own sip of wine and scrunched up his face at the taste. 

The King sighed, and to Wooyoung’s surprise, he gave in. 

“He has black hair.” 

“And?” Wooyoung leaned forward, eager to know more about this apprentice that had left such a good impression on his father. 

“What else do you want to know?” 

“I don’t know... black hair doesn’t tell me much,” Wooyoung said. 

Beomseok thought hard for a moment, and his next words would haunt Wooyoung through the following day.

“Well, his cheeks dimple easily, I guess. Honestly, son, I don’t know what you want from me.” 

_ Oh. _

“That’s enough idle chit-chat.” Beomseok said. He dabbed at his mouth with a handkerchief. “You’ll meet him soon enough. Now that the matter is settled, you’re dismissed.” 

Wooyoung nodded and stumbled to his feet in a daze. There’s no way. 

There’s  _ no way.  _

He didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. This had to be a coincidence. There was no way Dimples was the physician’s apprentice and his... his soon to be  _ manservant _ . 

But if it  _ was  _ Dimples…. 

Why did Wooyoung’s ears burn at the thought? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AYYY, for a fic, I know it has a pretty long intro, but we’re finally setting the stage for some fun interactions and oblivious idiots. Kudos and comments are appreciated! 
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/lynnt1ny) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/lynnt1ny)


	3. Sweet Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How did you get such good remarks from my father?” 
> 
> San shrugged. “Must have been my charming personality.” 
> 
> “Beomseok doesn’t like charming personalities.” 
> 
> “Are you saying you agree with me?” San chuckled. “Does Wooyoungie think I’m charming?”

"What the fuck _.”  _

San paced in the physician’s chamber, waiting for Hongjoong to walk in. He had just returned from the King’s summons, and the new orders he received there made his stomach turn. 

“What the  _ fuck.”  _

San felt overheated, and he was short of breath. Of  _ course _ , he’d get stuck with the job. Of  _ course.  _ Of all the people the King could pick, it had to be  _ him.  _ He didn’t  _ know _ how to be a servant. He didn’t know how to act around the prince. He just… He didn’t know what to  _ do.  _

Was this punishment for earlier? If he hadn’t talked back to Wooyoung, would he be stuck in this position? What will Wooyoung do when he sees him? There were so many questions- so many things that could go  _ wrong.  _

Eventually, San collapsed into a chair, his head in his hands. What would he tell his mother? That he showed up and was demoted to a lowly servant within his first week? Where was he going to live? Would Hongjoong let him stay? 

These thoughts and questions spiraled in his head, crashing against each other. He wouldn’t say he was  _ scared _ . There were just so many unknowns. Too many questions. 

Tears pricked in his eyes, and he almost laughed. This wasn’t something to  _ cry _ over. This was hardly the most devastating moment of his life, but the pit in his stomach wouldn’t stop growing. 

Hongjoong came in then. He had obviously been running, his hair askew and panting. He walked over and knelt by San’s side. 

“I’m guessing you know already?” San sniffed. 

“Yeah,” Hongjoong said. “One of the guards tipped me off.” He took San’s hands and squeezed them. “I know you haven’t been here long, but if you ever need  _ anything _ , tell me, even if you aren’t technically in my service anymore.” 

San nodded. He couldn’t comprehend all of this at once. In his head, he was still back in the King’s chambers, hearing his new orders- the threats of what failure would do to him, and weight that had been dropped on his shoulders. 

“Can…” San started. He entwined his fingers through Hongjoong’s. “Can I stay here? I don’t have anywhere else to go.” 

Hongjoong’s smile washed away San’s worries. “Of course you can. You can stay as long as you want,” he said. “As long as you can fit one or two errands in between your work.” He spoke with a lighthearted tone, and San assumed he meant it as a joke. Still, he was definitely going to help Hongjoong, he thought. It was the least he could do to repay him. 

But…  _ Your work. _

What was his work? What was he expected to do? All San knew was that he’d have to attend the Prince. Other than that, he was clueless. 

“San, when you’re ready, I think you should talk to Seonghwa.” 

“Seonghwa?” 

“Yeah,” Hongjoong said. “He works as a personal servant, and he could help with this.. ah, situation.” 

San nodded. Seonghwa worked under Yeosang, he remembered. Maybe he could tell San what to expect. 

“Yeah, I think I will.” 

Finding Seonghwa was easy. He was lounging in the hallway outside Yeosang’s room. San realized it was where he had stumbled into him on his first day in Sinsu. San smiled at the memory. 

“Seonghwa?” 

The man’s head shot up. “San! How are you?” 

“I’m good. Well, as good as I can be right now,” San said. 

“What are you talking about?” A look of concern crossed Seonghwa’s face, and San laughed to wipe it off. 

“It’s absurd, really,” he said. “The King, ah.. The King wants me to be Prince Wooyoung’s manservant.” He laughed again, this one coming out much more forced. “Who would’ve thought?” 

Seonghwa looked stuck between a smile and a grimace. In hindsight, he looked constipated, and San would’ve laughed (genuinely) if he wasn’t doing his usual awkward babbling. 

“He asked you to be a manservant?” Seonghwa asked. 

“Ordered, more like,” San said. “But hey, at least I’m part of the royal household now, or something?” His voice grew in pitch at the end of the statement. 

Seonghwa seemed at lost for words. 

“But, um, I have no idea what this entails. I was hoping you could help, or tell me what I should expect, since you’re Yeosang’s…“ he trailed off. 

“Yeah,” Seonghwa said. “Yeah, of course I can help.” 

A servant scurried past them, and San’s eyes trailed after them. That’s what he’ll be like soon, he realized- eyes cast downward, running to his next destination in fear of.. what exactly? He hoped he wouldn’t have to find out. 

The words of his mother rung accusingly in his ears. 

_ You’ll be fine, as long as you stay true to yourself.  _

The servants here, minus Seonghwa, walked like empty shells. A new fear struck him at that thought. 

“Could we talk somewhere more private?” San asked, feeling awkward in the middle of the corridor. 

Seonghwa nodded, and he set off in the direction of the library. San had stolen glances inside, but he had never actually set foot in the library. Reading gave him migraines. He really, truly respected anyone who could sit for hours and read for  _ fun  _ (his mother being one of them). 

But if he  _ was  _ the type to read, the library would be his favorite part of the castle. Shelves expanded over every wall, their shelves overflowing with books. The amount of information stored in one room made San’s head spin. The smell of old parchment was overpowering, and lanterns hung from the ceiling, casting a golden glow over the room. 

Seonghwa sat in a chair in the far corner, gesturing for San to do so as well. Apart from them, the room was empty, save for the court librarian, who was fast asleep in his chair. 

“I don’t know why he picked  _ you _ for the job,” Seonghwa said. 

Suck a breath in through his teeth, San said, “I’d gladly give it to you if I could.” 

Seonghwa laughed. “No, I’m quite happy with my current position, thanks,” he said. “I mean, considering you’re coming to me for help, I’m guessing you’ve never been a servant before? I’d assume they would give it to someone more.. experienced?” 

“Ask the King. I have no idea what goes on in his head,” San said. 

“You and me both.” 

They settled into a comfortable silence before Seonghwa said, “So you need details on the job? Like, what you have to do?” 

“Please,” San said. “All I know is that I have to serve Wooyoung, and that’s it.” 

“Jesus christ.” 

“Yeah. Not much to go off of.” 

Seonghwa bent back and grabbed a stack of empty parchment from the table behind him. “Do you see any ink or quill lying around, you might need to take some notes.” 

“What do you mean, I need to  _ dress _ him?” 

Seonghwa shrugged. “The nobles here are  _ useless _ , San.” 

“What? They can’t tie simple laces together?” San gawked at Seonghwa, his quill leaving a puddle of ink where he hadn’t lifted it off the parchment. 

“Among other things.”

“So… I have to bring him food, wake him up, and  _ dress him? _ ” 

“A better wording would be to make him look presentable,” Seonghwa said. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Wooyoung has been walking around with his shirt backwards for the past two days. He hasn’t realized yet, and Yeosang thinks it’s too funny to tell him himself.”

Considering he’d been avoiding Wooyoung like the plague- no, he had not noticed. 

“And  _ he’s _ the one who’s going to rule the kingdom?” 

Seonghwa winced. “I wouldn’t remind him about that. It’s a touchy subject for him.” 

San noted that down. 

“After that, it’s fair game,” Seonghwa said. “That’s the basic morning of a manservant, but after that, everything comes down to whatever Wooyoung orders you to do.” 

“Is that all I need to know? “

“Well, no. There’s nighttime stuff, too.” 

“Nighttime… stuff.” 

Seonghwa nodded. “That’s when the lords relax, usually after a long day of signing papers and arguing with each other.” 

What.

“Seonghwa…” San narrowed his eyes. “How exactly are servants supposed to help them ‘relax?’” His grip on the quill tightened, and Seonghwa’s eyes widened.

“ _ OH _ no, no, Wooyoung isn’t like that,” he said. “And neither is Yeosang. The most you’ll have to do is draw up a bath or give them wine.” He shrugged. “King Beomseok is very… lax with how his lords treat servants, but at the very least, there’s a ruling against unwanted sexual advances.” For a split second, San saw a flash of anger in his eyes, and Seonghwa’s fists clenched together. 

“Um… lax?” San probed. He had a feeling he was getting himself into too much. Plus, the look on Seonghwa’s face scared him. 

But Seonghwa must have noticed, because he quickly gave him a soft smile. “You have nothing to worry about with Wooyoung, San. He’s a good man, and he can be very kind when he wants to be,” he said. “And if he  _ ever _ does anything to you, I’ll beat him up myself.” 

San laughed. “Thanks, I guess.” 

“Of course,” Seonghwa said. “But as a side note, I would stay away from a few of the other lords and knights, specifically the ones closest to the King.” He glanced warily at the door. “Or, it you  _ have _ to attend to them, be very careful.” 

“Careful as in?” 

“Use the titles, don’t look them square in the face, and just.. Be  _ careful. _ ” Seonghwa bit his lip. “Don’t worry about it, though. You’ll be fine.” 

That didn’t help calm San’s nerves. 

“Um, so everything else comes down to whatever Wooyoung orders you to do.” 

San gulped. “Yeah. Simple.” 

“It really is, though. You don’t have to overthink it.” 

San was the  _ best _ at overthinking things. 

“Can’t wait to start.” 

~

All too soon, San found himself at the kitchens the next morning. 

He wore a light shirt with a hint of green, a standard pair of trousers, and a weary smile. The cooks had a tray ready for him, as Seonghwa said they would, and the weight of it in his hands felt damning, like this was  _ real.  _

Wooyoung’s rooms weren’t far from his own. 

San didn’t want to be dramatic, but each step made him feel closer to death. Would Wooyoung even recognize him? A part of San wanted him to, but it would be such a relief if he didn’t. This whole thing would go a lot smoother if they started on a new foot. 

And before he knew it, he was in front of the Prince’s rooms. 

He had passed the guards a few hallways back, giving them a nod as he did. San was glad now that they weren’t there to see him then- hesitating at the door. 

He needed to wake the prince up. Was he supposed to knock first? That would be pointless if Wooyoung was asleep, right? Seonghwa’s instructions were vague in this department. San had no details to go off, so he assumed he’d just have to do it his own way.. whatever that would be. 

San propped the tray against his side and prayed that nothing would tip over. He pressed the door open slowly, heart thumping against his chest. He didn’t know why he was so nervous, but at the same time, he felt it was understandable. The way the king had put it, failing this job would almost be a death sentence. He would have to get used to this if he wanted to keep his head. 

Wooyoung’s rooms were almost exactly like the King’s, only slightly less grand. There was a table by the entrance of the room, a desk at the far end, and in the corner- a bed. With Wooyoung in it. 

San sucked in a breath and closed the door behind him, getting a firm grip on the tray again. A few weeks ago, San would’ve never believed that he’d find himself here, in Wooyoung’s rooms. Now, he wished he could be  _ anywhere _ else. 

He set the tray on the table and contemplated his next move. He could… open the curtains? Yeah, that sounded good. In the back of his mind, he knew he was putting off the inevitable, but he ignored it. 

But then he regretted it because the curtains were right by Wooyoung’s bed. 

San winced as he crept by. He could see a mop of black hair splayed against the pillows, the covers bunched up below, but that was all. San turned his back on him and focused on pulling the fabric to the side, illuminating the room and casting away the shadows. 

Below, he could see the streets of Sinsu in its full glory. They were quite high in a tower, San realized. He could see the bustle of activity in the courtyard and the town beyond. He saw wagons clatter, people cheerfully calling out to each other, the sun peaking out for the dawn of the day. It was both nothing and everything like he had imagined Sinsu to be. He then wished he had spent more time exploring- during his stay, he’d mostly been in the castle, running errands for Hongjoong and learning the maze of corridors. Later today, he thought. He’ll go to the marketplace and find something interesting to buy. 

“You’re not here to stare out the window like a lovesick girl, San.” 

The voice made San jump out of his skin. For a good two seconds, he had forgotten where he was. 

San whipped around and stared. 

That was… a lot of skin.

Wooyoung sat up in the bed. He rubbed blearily at his eyes and yawned, stretching his arms up above his head. 

San shifted on his feet, unsure of what to do. He would have thought it was  _ cute _ if he didn’t know Wooyoung was a douche. He had to keep reminding himself: He’s a jerk. He’s an arrogant prick. He’s- 

“So it really  _ is _ you,” Wooyoung mumbled. His cheeks were slightly puffy and pink from sleep, and his hair was a  _ mess. _ San gulped, knowing  _ he _ was supposed to fix Wooyoung up: put him in his flashy clothes and somehow tame the bird nest on his head. 

“I, uh, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Wooyoung paused for a second and hummed. He looked San square in the face and said, “Now that you’re  _ my _ servant, it’s more than imperative that you use proper titles.” 

“Yeosang never tells me to use  _ his _ titles. I don’t see what’s so ‘imperative’ about it.” 

Oh god, it was happening again. San’s mouth was opening, and the words were tumbling out, just as they did before. 

“How did  _ you _ get such good remarks from my father?” 

San shrugged. “Must have been my charming personality.” 

“Beomseok doesn’t  _ like _ charming personalities.” 

“Are you saying you agree with me?” San chuckled. “Does Wooyoungie think I’m charming?” 

Wooyoung stared at him, the pink from his cheeks spreading down to his neck. “Call me that again, and you  _ will  _ be put in the stocks.” 

San didn’t know what was happening to him. He didn’t  _ mean _ to say that. For some odd reason, his brain-to-mouth filter disappeared when he was around Wooyoung, and while he probably should be mortified by his words, he couldn’t bring himself to stop. 

He thought back to the instructions Seonghwa gave him. Here goes nothing, then. 

San rolled his eyes and stepped closer to the Prince. Wooyoung’s eyes went wide for a moment before he settled his expression to a scowl. Coupled with the bed-head and lack of a shirt, he looked almost ridiculous. 

San bent over and pulled on Wooyoung’s arm. “C’mon,  _ sire _ , you can’t be late for whatever stupid tasks you do in the morning.” 

Wooyoung grimaced, but he stood (he was wearing undergarments, thank  _ god _ ). San internally sighed in relief. 

He’d have to deal with this  _ every morning _ . 

It hit him, then, that he didn’t know when he’d be able to  _ stop _ . He didn’t know what the end date was. He didn’t know when he’d get his life back. For all he knew, he could be stuck as Wooyoung’s servant until he died. He shuddered at the thought, and he suddenly found it hard to swallow. Distantly, he knew he still held Wooyoung’s forearm, the other staring at him, waiting for him to move, but the realization kept him frozen. 

“San?” Wooyoung waved a hand in his face. “Are you okay?” 

San pursed his lips together and sniffed. Not for the first time, he wanted to be anywhere but  _ here. _ This job was indefinite. Wooyoung… he.. San just didn’t  _ know.  _ These sudden thoughts scared him, and now Wooyoung was going to say something harsh or belittling, and be the royal  _ ass _ that he was, and- 

“Hey.” 

San focused on Wooyoung. 

“Can I eat my breakfast now?” 

Suddenly aware of their proximity, San let go of Wooyoung’s arm and stumbled back. “I’m having a crisis right now, and  _ that’s _ what you say?” 

“I’m a simple man. I see food, I eat.” Wooyoung pushed past San, but San didn’t miss the concerned glance he threw over his shoulder. 

“While you’re over there, make my bed and start tidying up. This place is a mess. And set out some clothes- nothing too fancy. You’re lucky there are no important events on your first day.” 

Wordlessly, San busied himself with the new tasks, trying to occupy his mind with something else. With Wooyoung eating, San finally noticed just how chaotically  _ messy _ the room was. A pile of clothes lay stacked in the corner, likely thrown over there for a few days’ time; tracks of mud streaked across the floor; the fireplace lay cold and uninviting; and flowers wilted in a vase in the corner of the room. After straightening the sheets, San walked over there first, frowning as the petals crumbled under his fingers. 

“Like them?” Wooyoung grumbled. “They were my favorites- the prettiest blue I’ve ever seen.” He stabbed a piece of sausage with a fork. “My last servant let them die. I don’t have the heart to throw them out yet.” 

“Is that why you sacked him?” San asked. 

“No,” Wooyoung said. “He was boring.” 

“I don’t realize it was a servant’s job to entertain you.” 

Wooyoung sighed. “Are my clothes ready?” 

San clicked his tongue and walked over to Wooyoung’s wardrobe. He flung the doors open and rifled through it, his fingers brushing over luxurious silks and fabrics that  _ screamed _ wealth. 

“You know, Seonghwa told me you’ve been walking around with your shirts on backwards,” San said. Behind him, he heard Wooyoung choke on his food. 

“He was joking.” 

“Hmm, it didn’t sound like a joke to me.” 

“San,” Wooyoung said, a hint of a warning in his tone. He set his fork softly on his plate. “Um, come dress me once you’ve picked something out.”

“Is a ‘please’ too much to ask for?” 

“Yes.” 

San focused back on the closet, ignoring how his fingers shook as he shifted through the clothes. 

“I don’t have all day,” he heard Wooyoung say behind him.

“But  _ I _ do,” San retorted. His eyes caught on a familiar purple then, and he grinned, pulling out a purple shirt with a low v-neck- the one he had spilt water over in their first encounter. 

_ Perfect.  _

He hummed and grabbed a random pair of dark trousers to match. 

He startled as he turned around, met with a very shirtless Wooyoung who looked vaguely annoyed. “I have somewhere to be, you know,” Wooyoung huffed. 

“Uh-huh.” 

_ Very eloquent, San.  _

Slightly panicked, San stuffed Wooyoung’s head into the shirt, grimacing at the muffled yelling that followed. 

“San! What the fuck, you have to get the sleeves first,” Wooyoung growled. 

“Do it yourself then!” 

“You’re my… You’re my servant!” 

“ _ So?”  _

Wooyoung’s head finally popped out of the shirt, his hair messier than it was before. How that was even possible- San couldn’t tell you. “You really are the worst,” Wooyoung said. 

“You’ll come to love me, eventually.” 

Wooyoung laughed, and the squeaky nature of it caught San off guard. “You’re insufferable.” 

“Says the arrogant  _ ass. _ ” 

Despite the insults, Wooyoung’s face lit up in a way that San could only describe as happiness — sheer, unbridled happiness. If this went on, he could find himself getting drunk on it. 

“Are you going to fix my hair yet?” 

The corners of San’s eyes crinkled up. “Not unless you want to walk around pantless.” He pressed the trousers to Wooyoung’s chest. “Do you need help with  _ these _ too?” 

Wooyoung wrinkled his nose. “Go… Go do something.” He took the pants from him, his hand clasping over San’s fingers. 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific,  _ sire _ .” 

The Prince sighed, his face scrunching up even more. “Go find a brush,” he muttered. 

“Will do.” 

  
  


Wooyoung had a council meeting, which gave San a few free hours. He took Wooyoung’s orders of ‘fuck off, San’ to heart, and he walked the streets, heading to the marketplace with a few coins jingling together in his pockets and a pack on his back. San thanked the lord he got an advanced pay, so he had room to splurge. 

The morning had gone a lot better than he expected. Wooyoung’s hair was a struggle to take care of, as he knew it would be, but as much as he hated himself for it, San kind of liked the way it felt in his hands. As an added benefit, he could pull all he wanted when Wooyoung was being annoying. 

In the back of his mind, alarm bells were going off. 

He had  _ just met _ Wooyoung. Things like this shouldn’t be clicking in place so quickly, but Wooyoung made it so  _ easy _ . The banter was  _ fun.  _

He was… he was the  _ Prince.  _

San groaned to himself, but he didn’t let himself dwell on it as he finally stepped into the marketplace. 

The streets didn’t change much from the first time he had been there. Everywhere he looked, he saw people- talking, laughing, calling out greeting to one another. The vendors stretched out from either side of him, some selling food, clothes, necessities, and others with random trinkets and odd contraptions. 

Right off the bat, San felt drawn to a table to the right. A girl about his age sat there, working meticulously with a knife and a block of wood. The table stretched out before her, filled with small wooden carvings. 

San walked over and crouched down. He admired the detailed work, tracing the curves of the wood with the tip of his finger. 

“A dragon,” the girl spoke up. “It’s my favorite to carve.” 

And San could tell. He could see the love put into every detail of the carving- in  _ all  _ the carvings. “They’re all beautiful.” 

The girl laughed, and it brought a smile to San’s face. “One day,” she said. “I’ll be able to make them fly. If you think they’re beautiful now, just you wait.” 

“I’m sorry?” 

She grinned. “Magic. I’ll use magic.” 

Ah.

In his time in the castle, San had almost forgotten about the stories. So many of them had been true- so many of them had been wrong. And of course, there was the one about Wooyoung. 

Wooyoung was supposed to bring magic back. 

San didn’t know  _ how _ it was supposed to happen. He didn’t know  _ where _ the stories came from. At this point, it was fact. A prophecy, you could say. 

But after  _ meeting  _ Wooyoung… 

San didn’t think the dragons would ever fly. Stories were stories, and he was a fool to think otherwise. 

Still, he let himself smile. “That’d be amazing.” He reached into his pockets. “I’ll, um, can I buy this from you?” 

“Five gold pieces!” 

San was enjoying himself a  _ lot. _ The people here were so lovely to talk to, and San found himself spending way too much of his money. The sun was bright, taking off the chilly edge of the autumn day, and San felt at home in the village environment. 

There were only a few things that could have ruined his mood, and just his luck, he ran into one of them. 

San felt a hand settle on his shoulder. “What do you think you’re doing here?” 

Whirling around, San gaped at the figure in front of him. Wooyoung stood in front of him, wearing a dirty cloak with the hood pulled up over his head. 

“What to  _ you _ think you’re doing here,” San seethed. 

“I’m, uh, I’m in disguise.” 

San stared at him. “What happened to your  _ extremely important council meeting _ then?” 

“No one is supposed to know I’m here, dipshit, including you.” 

San tsked. “I spent so much time fixing your fucking hair only for you to throw a rag over it.” 

“Don’t flatter yourself. Even my last servant could make it look better than you did.” 

Wooyoung sighed before grabbing San’s arm walked back in the direction he came from. San yelped and stumbled after him. “What are you doing?” he demanded. 

“Dragging you back to clean my quarters, which is what you were supposed to be doing in the first place.” 

“I very clearly remember your orders being ‘fuck off!’” 

“Yeah. In servant language, that means  _ scrub my floors. _ ” 

“Oh, so we have different languages now?” San asked incredulously. “You know, I was having a  _ great _ time before you showed up.” 

“Yeah, spending your money?” 

“No, spending  _ yours _ .” 

Wooyoung scoffed at him. They passed the guards to the first gated checkpoint of the castle, and Wooyoung let go of him. “Have my chambers spotless by the time I get back, and don’t forget that you have to attend me at night.” 

“How could I forget?”

(。-`ω´-)

Wooyoung didn’t know what he was going to do with San. 

He thought he’d get a few hours  _ away _ from him by doing his routine check over the lower villages, but  _ no _ , San had to go on a shopping spree. 

His father hated when Wooyoung did this, when he went into the lower towns, but reports could only tell you so much information. There was nothing like actually  _ being _ there and seeing your people face to face. It was just one of the many things they disagreed on. Wooyoung was walking a thin line, and some days, he thought he’d get disowned if he swayed too far on one side. 

But that morning. Jesus christ. 

Wooyoung needed to keep San  _ away _ from his father. As far as possible. San was perfect. He was everything Wooyoung had wanted, but Beomseok would take him away with a snap of his fingers if he heard  _ one _ sentence out of San’s mouth. One stupidly clever line. 

San was going to be the  _ death _ of him. 

Unfortunately, Wooyoung really  _ did _ have a council meeting in an hour, so he didn’t have much time to go through the checks he wanted. The rendezvous with San didn’t help, and— 

God, could Wooyoung have  _ one  _ thought,  _ just one,  _ that didn’t somehow involve San? This wasn’t  _ normal.  _ He had been mulling over their first encounter for  _ days _ , and now that they were now interacting on the daily- he was going to go insane. 

Wooyoung gave up on observing the lower town. All he accomplished by being there was risk the chance of being recognized, but he couldn’t go rest in his rooms; San was there.

He set off toward Yeosang’s quarters. He needed to  _ rant _ . 

(。-`ω´-)

That night, San was even more jittery than he was before, if that could be possible. He had scrubbed the floor, took Wooyoung’s clothes to the maids, and rearranged Wooyoung’s dresser before he went back to his room and complained to Hongjoong. It wasn’t perfect work, but there was a noticeable improvement to the room, and against his own wishes, he hoped Wooyoung would at least acknowledge it.

Which, of course, he didn’t. 

Opening the door, he saw Wooyoung collapsed on his bed, face down. 

“Can you  _ knock? _ ” Wooyoung groaned. 

“Nope.” 

Wooyoung rolled onto his back, muttering profanities, and San laughed at him. “Only keeping you on your toes, sire.” 

Wooyoung groaned again. “Can you hurry up and undress me, so I can  _ sleep _ .” 

Come again? 

“Um, I’m going to need you to repeat that,” San said. 

“What?” 

“You want me to  _ undress _ you?” 

Wooyoung stared up at him. “Wow, you’re really clueless, aren’t you?” 

“Well, excuse me,” San spluttered. “I didn’t get a sheet of instructions for this  _ esteemed _ position.” 

“Just, c’mere and get this off of me.” 

With a sigh, San walked over to the bed. He grabbed Wooyoung’s arms and pulled him to his feet. “Arms up.” 

“I’m the one who gives the orders,” Wooyoung said. 

San gave him his best ‘please-work-with-me-here’ face, and Wooyoung complied with a roll of his eyes. 

“Speaking of orders, my armor needs to be polished by tomorrow.” Wooyoung said as San finally pulled the hem of the shirt over his head. It tousled his hair, and San’s fingers twitched, feeling the urge to set the strands back in place. “I want to be able to see my face in the reflection.” 

“Narcissistic much?” 

A grin spread across Wooyoung’s face, and San had to look away for fear of his sanity. 

“It’s important to look the part of the prince, is it not?” 

“For what? I don’t remember any important tournaments or battles coming up,” San muttered, internally glad that he hadn’t lost his composure yet. He folded the shirt in his arms and stole another glance up at Wooyoung. 

“For tomorrow,” Wooyoung grinned again. “Tomorrow we train the knights. And the day after that. And the next.” He let out a soft chuckle. “I think you’ll be  _ very _ familiar with the smell of polish, San.” 

San flicked his forehead, and Wooyoung yelped. 

“You’re lucky you’re a prince,” San said. “I’m tempted to chuck you out your window.” 

Wooyoung gasped, rather theatrically. “That sounds like treason, San.” 

“You like it when I talk back.” 

San caught the way Wooyoung’s eyes widened at that, but he scoffed in response. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

San hummed. 

“Good night, Wooyoung.” 

“Happy polishing, San.” 

With a roll of his eyes, San turned around. “I hope you have  _ sweet dreams _ ,” San drawled, the words dripping in sarcasm. 

“Oh, I most definitely will.” 

This was it. This was what San would have to endure for god knows how long. Every day. Every night. It wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be, but he didn’t know how long he’d be able to keep it up. 

As he left, San caught a glimpse of bright blue, settled in a vase in the far corner of the room. There were flowers there, in full bloom, and San briefly wondered who had come in to change them out. 

With a small smile, he kicked the door open and went down the corridor. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I use italics too much. 
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/lynnt1ny) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/lynnt1ny)


	4. Another's Sorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What are they like?” he asked. “Are they as pompous as you? Pretentious? Rude?” 
> 
> “I’m anything but rude.”
> 
> “Are you sure about that?” 
> 
> Wooyoung scoffed. “I’m only rude to a select few.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some implied/slight abuse mentioned throughout this chapter. This plotline is self-contained to this chapter and only mentioned in the next. I’ll provide a short tl;dr in the end notes if you don’t feel comfortable with reading it.
> 
> I made a playlist for this fic! Here’s a quick link if you want to check it out: [You're Magic To Me](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0Jj8K0QVmzZ4KeWgn8mzbM)  
> \- There are a few *major* spoilers in here- just don’t overanalyze and you should be fine. If you do decide to listen, I recommend to use the order of the playlist and stop when you feel like you’re entering spoiler territory (songs are in chronological order).  
> (I made a Spotify account for this too lmao)

San woke up late. 

Without taking the time to clean up, he rushed to the kitchens, passing Hongjoong on his way out, who only laughed at his retreating form. San looked like a _mess_ , but he could see the sun already rising through the windows as he ran, and he just _knew_ he would never hear the end of this. 

The cook gave him the morning tray and grinned at him. “Late morning, eh?” 

“Unfortunately,” San huffed out. He nodded a quick thank you and hurried back the way he came, taking care to not trip over his feet in the process. 

The hallways flashed by, and after several near-collisions, San found himself right back at Wooyoung’s door, ready to start the new day. 

On the breakfast tray, some water had spilt over the bread, and San wrinkled his nose. Soggy bread was nasty, but at least it was Wooyoung’s problem, not his. 

Speaking of, San mentally groaned at the prospect of seeing Wooyoung in his current state: disheveled hair, puffy cheeks, and what suspiciously felt like dried drool at the corner of his mouth. 

In his defense, it wasn’t entirely _his_ fault. If anything, it was the Prince’s. 

Last night, Wooyoung’s armor was a nightmare to polish- the dirt had caked on from whatever Wooyoung did to it before, and San’s fingers ached from digging into all the nooks and crannies. There was no way he was going to do that _every day_. Wooyoung could go fuck himself. 

With a huff, San shoved the door open, only to be directly greeted by Wooyoung’s chest. 

“You’re late.” 

San looked up at Wooyoung’s face. 

“Ah.” 

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow. “No excuses prepared?” He looked over San appraisingly. “You look like you came straight out of bed. Already slacking on the job?” He crossed his arms, and San almost laughed at his attempt to look imposing. 

“How long were you standing in front of the door, Wooyoung?” he chirped. 

“Long enough to scold my servant for it.” 

San smiled sheepishly, holding up the tray. “Do you want breakfast or not?” 

Wooyoung stepped to the side, and San walked in, setting the tray down with a loud _clunk_ . “I’d be here earlier if you didn’t keep me up so late,” he said. “Polishing takes _time_.” 

“Can’t wat to see your _polishing_ work then.” 

San slouched into a chair by the table, looking longingly at the food. In his rush to get there, he didn’t have time to change his shirt, let alone grab a bite to eat. How mortifying would it be to ask Wooyoung for a part of his breakfast? He opened his mouth to say something, but choked on his words at a sudden weight in his hair. 

He threw his head back, looking up at an upside down Wooyoung. 

“I can’t have my servant looking like he got trampled by a horse,” Wooyoung grumbled above him. “It isn’t good form.” 

San hummed and looked forward again, trying to hide the new rush of red in his cheeks. Wooyoung combed his fingers through his hair, and while it felt heavenly, it would’ve been nicer if his stomach wasn’t trying to maul him from the inside. 

Wooyoung seemed a bit… preoccupied. Surely he wouldn’t notice if- 

San reached for the tray and grabbed a few cheese cubes, trying to act as nonchalant as possible. Wooyoung’s hand stilled. 

“San,” he said. “What are you doing?” 

Ah, fuck. 

San looked up again, a cheeky grin already on his face. “Having a snack.” 

Wooyoung’s brow furrowed, and not for the first time, he seemed at a loss for words. “San, that’s _my_ food.” 

San pursed his lips and stared up at him. His mother could never say no to his pouting, and he hoped it would have the same effect on Wooyoung. “Didn’t have time to eat this morning,” he said. 

Wooyoung’s hand in his hair tightened. “So you _did_ just wake up.” 

“I thought that was obvious.” San settled back into the chair. Wooyoung didn’t seem like he was going to throw him into the dungeons for eating his food, so he plopped a block of cheese into his mouth and chewed. 

Wooyoung set his hands on San’s shoulders. “I think you’re forgetting something very important here, San,” he said. 

“Hmm?”

“ _I’m_ the prince here,” he said. He pat San’s head in a condescending manner and sat next to him, pulling the tray away from San’s reaching fingers. 

“Mm but _food_ ,” San groaned. The empty pit in his stomach only seemed to grow. He eyed the heap of fruit on one side of the plate and sighed. 

“Wooyoungie _please?”_

_C’mon, fall for the puppy eyes, you heartless bastard._

Wooyoung visibly gulped, avoiding San’s gaze. Okay, then. He’ll have to push just a _little_ bit more. He got up and leaned over Wooyoung, hooking a chin over his shoulder. “Surely you won’t make me work hungry,” he whined into his ear, ignoring how his heart rate picked up.

If San were fully awake, he’d _never_ let himself do something like this, but the drowsy edge lowered his inhibitions. Rather than raise his adrenaline, his earlier run through the castle made him feel _more_ tired. 

He sighed, wrapping his arms around Wooyoung’s stomach, the chair between them digging uncomfortably into his front. “ _Wooyoungie._ ”

Wooyoung tensed and turned his head away from him. “I told you not to call me that,” he huffed.

“Ah, sorry, sire,” San said, but he didn’t move away. If anything, he held on tighter.

“I could have you arrested for so many things.” 

San hummed. “I know.” 

San could feel the fight leave Wooyoung’s body, and he yelped as Wooyoung took a bunch of grapes and shoved it in his face. 

“You don’t have to be so aggressive.” San detached himself from Wooyoung and took the offering with a grin. He grabbed an apple with his other hand and laughed. “You seem to be in a good mood,” he joked. 

“My servant is leeching off my food.” 

“Your servant can’t do his job on an empty stomach.” San bit into the apple, and from the corner of his eye, he saw Wooyoung watching him. “Anyways, what’s the plan for today?” 

Wooyoung dug into the rest of his food, sparing a wary glance at San. “I’m training the knights,” he said. “Which means, you get to hold my equipment.”

San’s eyes lit up. “I’m meeting the knights?” He grinned around the apple, and Wooyoung noticed his change in mood immediately. 

“They aren’t anything special,” he said. 

“I beg to differ.” San had been so excited to meet the knights ever since he stepped foot in the citadel. He wasn’t going to let Wooyoung ruin this for him. 

They settled into a comfortable silence, San finishing his _borrowed_ food and dropping the remains on Wooyoung’s plate (and if he snagged a few more pieces of cheese, Wooyoung thankfully said nothing). Before they knew it, Wooyoung’s bed was made, San wrestled him into a thin long-sleeved shirt, and they were off to the training grounds. 

As a servant, San was supposed to walk behind Wooyoung, but in his excitement, he found himself at his side instead. 

“What are they like?” he asked. “Are they as pompous as you? Pretentious? Rude?” 

“I’m anything but rude.”

“Are you sure about that?” 

Wooyoung scoffed. “I’m only rude to a select few.” 

San laughed and patted the back of Wooyoung’s hair, scratching idly at his nape. 

The touch seemed to shock Wooyoung out of his thoughts, and his back stiffened. “San, if you hear anyone coming near us in the corridor, you need to get behind me _fast._ ”

San hummed. “Then why not send me back right now?” 

Wooyoung shoved at San’s shoulder. “I know you won’t listen to me.” 

But eventually, San did slip behind Wooyoung as they drew closer to the training grounds. 

He could already hear the clamor of metal in the distance, and voices faded in among the noise as they kept walking. While he didn’t know what “training the knights” exactly entailed, he had a pretty good idea it would involve a headache and a lot of sweaty bodies. Ahead, San saw a pavilion, and to its side, a large field full of dummies, racks of weapons, and of course, the knights. 

He was familiar with the area, as he was there last night to polish Wooyoung’s stupid armor, but it felt entirely different with the knights there. It was a lot like walking to Sinsu for the first time- so many unfamiliar sounds and people and colors. A few horses grazed in the corner of the field, and servants flitted around, tending to the knights and standing to the side, arms full of weaponry and metal. 

San didn’t realize he was staring until Wooyoung pulled at the back of his shirt, dragging him into the pavilion. It was cozy in there, with racks of weapons, empty stands that usually stored suits of armor, and emergency supplies stacked in one corner. 

It was also decidedly empty. 

“There’s no one here,” San pouted. 

“Because we’re _late,”_ Wooyoung sighed. He found the armor San had left and gathered the pieces together. “I _was_ planning to come earlier and give you time to learn these buckles and straps,” he said. “But _someone_ decided to sleep in.” 

It hit him, then, that Wooyoung expected San to dress him in the armor. “Oh god.” 

Wooyoung smirked at him. “Good luck.” He dropped the pile of armor plates into San’s arms, and bits and pieces of it fell to the floor, clanging together in a cacophonic mess.

San looked up at Wooyoung. “I hate you,” he said, and Wooyoung laughed at him. 

“You might want to get started.” 

San huffed and put the pieces of armor on the table, bending over to grab the ones on the floor. “Chainmail first, right?” 

“No hints,” Wooyoung said. 

“Great,” San muttered. “ _You’re_ the one who’ll look like a fool when I get this wrong.” 

“They’ll just know I have an incompetent servant.” 

“Then why keep me around?” 

Wooyoung paused for a second. “You’re fun,” he said.

“Oh, yeah?” 

“Don’t make me repeat it.” 

San draped the chainmail over Wooyoung’s head, twisting it into place. Everything looked alright so far. San gave himself a mental pat on the back, although it was only step one. He puzzled over what to do next. It didn’t help that Wooyoung only stood there with an amused smile. 

Tentatively, San picked up the belt, wrapping it carefully around Wooyoung’s middle and hooking the buckle into place.

He hated this. 

It felt oddly intimate, even more so than their new morning routine (which was weird considering Wooyoung was always half naked). Maybe it was Wooyoung’s amused smile, or maybe it was the smaller room, but he ignored that voice in his head and took out a small piece that looked like it went underneath Wooyoung’s neck. 

San spent the next few minutes fiddling with buckles and adjusting the straps. He fit the pieces of armor onto Wooyoung like a big puzzle. Every time Wooyoung’s body shook with restrained laughter, San knew he did something wrong, and he retraced his steps. 

Wooyoung was deriving some kind of weird pleasure at seeing San struggle with this. He was in the best mood San had ever seen him in, and San didn’t think it was because he was about to go yell at grown men dressed in walking armories. 

Just to spite him, San took a shoulder plate and placed it gently on Wooyoung’s head. He snickered. “There we go. Looking good, sire.” 

Wooyoung bat at San’s shoulder and scoffed with an offended look on his face. “I’m not walking out with this on my head.” 

“Why not?” 

Wooyoung stared at him, and San gave in with a sigh, taking the piece and buckling it into place at Wooyoung's shoulder. He ignored how his stomach twisted at being so close to him as he tightened the strap, Wooyoung almost breathing down his neck. He gulped. 

The only thing left on the table now was the sheathed sword and a pair of leather gloves. 

San swallowed down his nerves and touched the back of Wooyoung’s hand. “Last bit,” he said. 

Wooyoung stilled, but he let San take his hands and stuff them into the gloves. He tucked the ends under his chainmail shirt. 

“I think that’s it,” San said. 

And then he froze. 

Because when he finally pushed his hair from his eyes and took a step back, he realized how stunning Wooyoung looked in armor. 

Wooyoung tilted his head to the side, looking appraisingly at San. “You figured that out faster than I thought you would,” he said. 

San held his breath. In the armor, Wooyoung looked every bit the warrior the stories made him out to be. San suddenly wanted to see Wooyoung in tournaments, in battle, in war, not to see him get _hurt_ , but to see him in his element; god, he was supposed to be the fiercest fighter in the land. 

To distract himself, San took the sheathed sword from the table and hooked it into Wooyoung’s belt. And no, his hands were _not_ shaking. 

“I think you’ll need this too.”

“And I think you’re an idiot.” 

San stuck his tongue out at him. “That’s my line.” 

Wooyoung shook his head with a smile. “Grab my waterskin and shield. I’m already late.” 

“I know. You keep reminding me.” 

Before they left the pavilion, Wooyoung turned back and looked at San. He hesitated, a smile gracing his lips. “There’s just… There’s something about you, San. I can’t quite put my finger on it.” 

San rolled his eyes. 

San learned another thing about Wooyoung today: He liked to show off.

Every time Wooyoung bested someone in a match, he looked over and grinned at San, and frankly, San was getting slightly annoyed ( _yes_ , he was _annoyed._ **_Not_ ** _proud_ ). And no, that was _not_ a giddy rush of excitement every time they met eyes. 

It didn’t help he was stuck standing there, carrying Wooyoung’s stuff. A few other servants stood around him too, but they didn’t seem inclined to talk (not that San tried much). 

On the field, the knights were paired up. Watching them train was just as surreal as San thought it would be, but after a while, that headache he predicted began to set in. The knight’s swords flashed in intricate dances, and all San could see was the flash of metal under the sun and Wooyoung’s snarky grin. Steel clashed against his ears in a constant, unending rhythm, and San just wanted to curl up by the fireplace and take a nap. 

Talking to Yeosang or Seonghwa would be nice now, Hongjoong, too, of course. Maybe Yeosang would have some good advice on how to deal with Wooyoung. They’ve been good friends for a _long_ time. San could definitely use some pointers. 

Speaking of… 

Wooyoung knocked yet another person onto their back, and without a pause, Wooyoung looked up and grinned at San. 

San longed for someone, anyone, to show Wooyoung up. The stories were only rumors, right? Exaggerations. 

Now, he wasn’t so sure, and it seemed Wooyoung could only lose if he made a clumsy mistake outside of his own control.

Like tripping. 

If Wooyoung tripped over right _now,_ San would have insult material for days. He watched the next match intently, but Wooyoung’s steps were sturdy, and the ground was clear of obstacles. 

_Oh, come on, you can trip up at least_ once _today. Nobody’s perfect._

It became a chant in San’s head, brought on by boredom and a small ache beginning in his arms. He knew it wouldn’t actually happen, but the image gave him a smile. 

And then Wooyoung tripped. 

San didn’t catch what made him do it, but one moment Wooyoung was hacking at another poor victim, and the next, he was on his ass, his opponent staring down at him in confusion. 

A laugh forced its way past San’s lips, and he turned his head to the side, trying to hide the way his shoulders shook at the force of it. If his hands were free, he’d be covering his face right now. 

Apparently, San could will things into existence now.

Still trying to stifle his laughter, he caught the eye of a servant to his side, who gawked at him, eyes wide, almost in fear. Wow, they _really_ didn’t have a sense of humor here. San would give his entire week’s pay to see Wooyoung fall over again (in a non-dangerous setting). 

Wooyoung was probably mortified right now. He was... he was walking over. San needed to _stop_ laughing and put on a straight face, but he knew his dimples were peeking out despite his best efforts. 

Wooyoung was fuming. In any other situation, San knew he probably should be afraid of the knight stomping towards him, sword in hand, but this whole situation felt so comedic instead. 

But Wooyoung didn’t stop in front of him. Instead, he grabbed San’s shoulder and dragged back towards the pavilion. Along the way, the equipment slipped from San’s arms and fell forgotten to the ground.

“Hey, hey, what are you doing?” San asked. 

Wooyoung shook his head, and when they were out of earshot from anyone, he hissed, “Saving face, you idiot.” He brought them to the top of a hill, back behind the pavilion, away from any wandering eyes. He dropped the sword away from them. “San, I don’t care how funny that was. You can’t laugh at me in public.” 

“It was hilarious though.” 

“Well, you have to hold it in then. It’s a high form of disrespect.” 

“So _that’s_ why the other servants weren’t laughing.” 

Wooyoung pouted, and San’s heart jumped again. 

“You know, I actually think a bit of payback is in store,” Wooyoung said. He looked over San’s shoulder before breaking into a full grin. 

“What? Why? _I_ didn’t make you fall on your ass.” 

He didn’t get much of a warning before Wooyoung tackled him, and then he understood why Wooyoung took them _there._ On top of a fucking _hill_. 

The tumble took the breath from San’s lungs, and he gasped for air. He landed on his back, and he felt like he had a bag of rocks on top of him. The hard edges of the armor dug into him. He flexed his arms, but Wooyoung had them pinned tight to the ground. 

“If you wanted to roll in the grass with me, you could have asked nicely,” San groaned. “Or taken off your armor.” 

Wooyoung loomed over him, a slightly guilty expression on his face. A light sheen of sweat was on his brow, likely from the training, and he bit his bottom lip. 

San turned his head and broke away from Wooyoung’s stare. He could feel his cheeks flush, heating up, and he focused on their surroundings, hoping that his heart rate would take a moment to calm down. 

_C’mon, San. You’ve only really known him for a_ day. 

But looking at their surroundings didn’t serve as the best distraction, as a field of bright blue surrounded them. 

“It’s the flowers you like,” San said. 

“I know,” Wooyoung smiled above him. “It’s the only field I can find in the kingdom with them.” He rolled off of San and landed on his back, closing his eyes. “Sometimes, I pick a small batch and give a few out in the lower villages. They usually only bloom in spring, though. We got lucky this year.” 

San hummed, and he propped himself up on his elbow. 

Wooyoung was beautiful, with his hair splayed over the blue flowers, eyes closed. His armor reflected in the sun, making him almost blinding to look at. 

This job would be a lot easier if the Prince hadn’t been so goddamn attractive. 

“What are you doing?” Wooyoung mumbled. 

“Looking at you.” 

“Yeah, I can see that.” 

“What? I’m not allowed to _look_ at you anymore?” 

Instead of answering, Wooyoung changed the question. “What are you thinking about then?” 

“This job,” San said, which was half true. “It seems like there are a lot of rules I still need to learn.” 

Wooyoung grinned over at him. “You’ll get it, eventually. I have faith in you.” 

“I think that’s the closest thing to a complement you’ve ever said to me.” 

“Don’t get used to it.” 

When they returned to the field, the knights were already dispersing. Wooyoung went into the pavilion, and San went back onto the field to try and figure out where he dropped Wooyoung’s equipment. 

He was deep in search when a tall knight stepped up to him, a condescending snarl on his face. He had deep-set lines on his forehead and a receding hairline. He seemed a lot older than many of the knights San had seen earlier. 

“Yes?” San questioned, and the knight grabbed his wrist. 

“I saw what you did earlier,” he spat. His voice was gruff, and he didn’t budge when San tried to move away. 

San’s eyes widened, and he frantically looked around. He wasn’t sure what he did to warrant this, but if he could just find Wooyoung again… 

The grip on his wrist turned bruising, and San winced, stifling a gasp before it could escape. The knight didn’t wear leather gloves like Wooyoung did. He wore gauntlets. 

“A servant shouldn’t laugh at his master,” the man said. “Let alone the _Prince_.” He twisted San’s wrist, and San knew from the sharp pain that it would break under any more pressure.

His mind was running a mile a minute, a mixture of pain and the need to _get away._ “I would think rending the Prince’s servant unable to work is a larger offense,” San quickly said, panicked, nodding to the knight’s grip.

The knight finally let up, and San whimpered at the dull ache it left behind. His wrist was definitely going to bruise, but thankfully, it didn’t quite feel sprained. 

San was reminded then, of what Seonghwa had said before, that the King was lax on the treatment of servants. He remembered the wary look on Seongwha’s face, the warning to stay away from certain members of the court. 

He understood now. 

“Apologies, sir, I’ll take care to show proper respect where it’s due.” 

Vaguely, he could hear someone calling his name, and in a daze, he turned his head to see Wooyoung poking his head out of the pavilion. He stiffly bowed to the knight and stumbled over. 

“Finally meet a knight, huh?” 

“Oh, yeah,” San’s words dripped in sarcasm. “Very pleasant.” 

“I bet.” Wooyoung glanced at the knight, who was still watching them. “Hey, stay away from him, okay? He’s a bit of a brute.” 

“Whatever you say, sire.” 

Wooyoung shook his head in exasperation. “Get this armor off of me.” 

“No 'please?'” 

“Never.” 

Working for Wooyoung was a whirlwind. 

A few days passed, and San couldn’t help but feel attached to Wooyoung in a way a servant shouldn’t be. He could almost call him a friend, and if he wasn’t imagining things, Wooyoung would call him one too (although the stubborn ass won’t admit it). San mentally berated himself for getting so close to the Prince within such a short time, but he couldn’t help it. 

At some point, he realized how _good_ Wooyoung was, and now it was all he could see. 

Before, when all he knew was Wooyoung’s pride, he thought he was a fool for thinking the Prince would be anything special, but now, it was just Wooyoung… being Wooyoung. The more time he spent with him, the more he wondered how he grew up to be someone so _kind._ And it was a secret kind of compassion, one you had to dig through his harsh layers to find. 

San was being dramatic again, too philosophical, but the past few days had given him so much time to mull over this. Spending hours upon hours with Wooyoung drove him insane (and he was already running out of original insults). 

For a second, San wondered if he could push Wooyoung _too_ _far_. Would Wooyoung fire him like he did his past servants? The King had made it _very_ clear that failure was not an option.

He’d lose his head if Wooyoung fired him. Literally. 

He wondered if Wooyoung _knew_ that. He probably didn’t. If San accidentally crossed the line, and if Wooyoung got rid of him, how would he react when that final sentence comes down? Deep down, he knew that Wooyoung wouldn’t stand for it, but a small part of him thought he may not _care_ , that Wooyoung didn’t see them as friends like San did. 

It was well into the night. The skies were dark, and the chilly air bit through San’s clothes like they were nothing. The guards were half asleep at their posts, their shoulders slumped, and a few had empty flasks by their feet. It was calm, peaceful. A quiet ambience had settled over the castle. 

San had never wandered around at night. He thought it would be too suspicious during his first few days there, but now that he was well acquaintanced with everyone, he felt more at ease. He loved how the stars peeped through the corridor windows, winking down at him as he walked past. He wondered if his mother was looking at those same stars. 

He missed her. 

San drew a lot of his strength, his courage, from her presence, and now that she was no longer at his side, he couldn’t help but feel _lost_ . That was another reason she sent him away, he thought. She thought he was too dependent on her, and what hurt the most was that she wasn’t _wrong_. 

The physician doors loomed ahead, and a light flickered from underneath the door. It surprised him. Usually, both he and Hongjoong were asleep by now, and he hoped Hongjoong wasn’t waiting for him before going to sleep himself.

He opened the door quietly and peeked in. 

A young girl in a chair with tears streaming down her face. Her hair was in loose braids, and she wore the simple attire of a serving girl. Hongjoong crouched down next to her, muttering encouraging words and wrapping a bandage around her arm. There was a splint on her ankle. 

The quiet night snapped, and San felt his paternal instincts kick in. Back in his village, he loved the children. He doted on them. He loved seeing them smile, knowing that he was the one that put it on their faces. Seeing a kid cry physically pained him, and San grimaced as he closed the door gently behind him. 

“Hongjoong?” he softly called out. 

The physician’s head snapped up, and he gave him a slight smile. “Go to bed, San,” he said. His voice was strained. 

It clicked then. 

She was wearing servant’s clothes.

He thought back to his first day on the training field. Nothing like that had happened since then, but the memory was still there. It was imprinted on both his mind and his wrist. Thankfully, Wooyoung hadn’t noticed it yet, as San had been wearing long sleeves. 

With a new understanding, he paused at the entrance at the room. “Is there… is there anything I can do to help?” he asked. 

Hongjoong shook his head. It was a clear dismissal, but San didn’t want to leave; he wanted to _help_. 

But Hongjoong knew exactly what he was thinking.

“San,” he said. “Please go to sleep. We can talk about it tomorrow.” 

“Yeah? A… talk?” 

“Yeah.” 

San did _not_ sleep well that night. Just from the glimpse he got, the girl’s injuries looked pretty severe. What kind of monster could do that to another human being, let alone a child? Hongjoong didn’t seem too shocked by it, so it must happen often too. There was something extremely rotten in this castle. Why wasn’t anyone doing anything to fix things? 

That morning, the conversation he had with Hongjoong was quick, and it didn’t do much to make San feel better. 

“I’m going to tell Wooyoung about this,” he said, and he knew Hongjoong understood exactly what he was talking about. 

“He already knows, San. Everyone does.” Hongjoong sighed. “You’ll be okay, though. You have extra protection under Wooyoung.” 

San didn’t need _reassurance._ “It’s not right.” 

“I know,” Hongjoong quickly said. “But it’s been like this for decades, long before Beomseok’s rule.”

“Wooyoung will change it. He… he’s _good._ ” 

“No, he’s not going to do anything about it,” Hongjoong said. He sighed and leaned back, rubbing his temples. The fireplace crackled in the corner of the room, and San could feel the blaze under his own skin, building in a pit of resentment. 

“Yes, he will. I’m sure he will.” 

Hongjoong gave him a tired smile. “I’m glad you think so highly of him now, but I don’t think he _can_ change anything.” 

“I’m still going to talk to him about it.”

Hongjoong winced. “I was afraid you’d say that.” 

“I mean, he could at least _try_ . Even just _talking_ to the King could help.” 

Hongjoong shook his head, but the tired smile was back. “Wait until the evening to ask him, then, after he’s loosened up a bit,” he said. 

“Will do.” 

That morning, Wooyoung seemed a bit… off. No, he was off for the _entire day_. San caught Wooyoung staring at him more than once, and if he bit his bottom lip any more, it would bleed. There was a constant crease on his forehead, and San longed to just reach out and smooth it out with a thumb. 

So when the sun finally set, and the room settled in a warm glow of candlelight, they were both a bit on edge. 

San hesitated in front of Wooyoung. He needed to have his conversation with him, but he wasn’t sure this was the best time with Wooyoung’s current mood. In the end, it was Wooyoung who decided it for him. 

“What is it? You’re making me nervous just by standing there.” 

Alright then. Here goes nothing. “Can I talk to you for a second before I leave?” San asked. 

“I’ve never been able to stop you before.” 

Ignoring his nerves, San broke into the story. He told him about the serving girl, about finding her crying in Hongjoong’s room. As he talked, San watched as Wooyoung’s expression morphed from mild curiosity to shame. And then it turned stony- not very promising. “I only saw her for a second, but I feel so bad,” San finished. 

“Why are you coming to _me_ for this?” 

Was Wooyoung actually an idiot? “Because you have the power to change things.” 

“I can’t do anything because one serving girl tripped and fell, San.” 

San stared at him. There was _no way_ Wooyoung just said that and expected San _not_ to tear him apart over it. “Jung Wooyoung. You and I both know this is a bigger problem than that.” 

Wooyoung _should be upset about this._ This lack of response wasn’t making any sense to him. The words jumbled in San’s head, and he couldn’t process the fact that _Wooyoung_ said them. Yes, Wooyoung was an asshole sometimes, but _come on_. 

Hongjoong warned him about this. San should have listened to him. After all, Hongjoong had lived there _way_ longer than he had. San felt like a fool for thinking he knew Wooyoung better after only a week. 

That didn’t stop the disappointment. 

“You don’t have the right to call me by my full name,” Wooyoung warned. He stepped over to San, and although he was shorter, San felt like Wooyoung was towering over him. 

“Sire,” he said, the word feeling foreign in his mouth. He always said it with an edge of sarcasm, but now, for the first time since he spilt water over Wooyoung’s shirt, he felt genuinely intimidated. That doubt came back again, of what would happen when Wooyoung finally had enough of him. At this point, it was only a matter of time, but San was _angry_ . This was something that needed to be _fixed_ . “I can’t believe you’ve been letting this happen for _years._ Why don’t you _care?_ ” 

“It’s not in my control,” Wooyoung hissed. “It’s the words of servants against high standing lords. Their servants, _their problems._ I’d look like an idiot asking my father to fix this.” 

“So am I only _your problem_ now? My word means nothing to you?”

“No...” Wooyoung said. His gaze turned even darker, and San could see his jaw clench. “You..” 

“What’s going to happen when _I_ upset someone of high standing other than _you_ ? Because we both know I will at some point,” San argued. “Or maybe I _already have_.” He leveled a challenging glare at Wooyoung. “What would you do?” 

For a split second, something crossed Wooyoung’s face, an emotion San couldn’t put a finger on, but as soon as it came, it was gone. “That’s what it is, isn’t it?” He spoke softly, a stark contrast to his harsh words before. “San, you need to tell me.”

“What are you talking about?” San began to pull away in confusion. 

But before he could retreat, Wooyoung grabbed his hand, pulling him closer than he was before. “San” he warned. “You’d tell me if someone hurt you, right?” 

“Sure.” 

His grip on San’s hand tightened, and with his other hand, he pulled up San’s sleeve. “What’s this then?” 

_Oh._ When did Wooyoung see it? And San had been so careful to hide it, too. 

A ring of bruises had formed around San’s wrist over the past few days. Now that it was out in the open, Wooyoung was staring, his fingertips shaking as he traced over the splotches. 

“It’s nothing.”

“Tell me!” 

San stared at him, mouth agape. _Now_ he’s upset? “One of the knights,” he said. “Strong grip, that’s all.” 

“I’ll kill him,” Wooyoung spat the words like venom. His change in demeanor sent San reeling, and he felt his anger surge back to the surface. Where was this reaction when San told him about the serving girl? 

“No! You’ll do no such thing,” San said. “Plus, according to your _logic_ , he ranks higher than me, and you shouldn’t care. You’re punching holes in your argument.” 

“But you’re _mine_ .” His grip tightened slightly, not enough to hurt, but San could feel Wooyoung’s eyes boring into his wrist. “You’re _my_ servant.” 

“Why does that make me any different from the others?” San seethed. 

Wooyoung flinched as he looked up and caught the glare in his eyes. “You.. you’re _San._ You _are_ different from the others.” 

San shook his head. “But I’m not,” he said. “And if you’re half the man I thought you were, you’d be able to get that through your _thick skull_ .” Ripping his arm away from Wooyoung, he continued, “If you’re going to protect _me,_ then you’ll have to protect the other servants in your fucking castle who’ve been through so much worse than _this_.” 

“Or what _?_ ” 

San stared at him. He thought Wooyoung was _better_ than this. “You should do it because you _care._ Don’t you care about your people? If you can’t protect the people living under your roof, how will you protect an entire kingdom?” 

“Or _what_ , San?” 

“I’ll,” San gulped. “I’ll quit, and you’ll never see me again.” God, the dramatics were back, but who could blame him? This whole situation made San sick to the stomach, and he was on the brink of _begging_ Wooyoung to _care_ about this. 

“You’ll.. You’ll leave Sinsu?” Wooyoung asked, eyebrows drawn downward. 

“No. I’ll _quit_ , and your father will punish me for not _doing my job right,”_ San said. “You _know_ what’ll happen. Honestly, I have no idea how you got him so pissy over servant’s work.”

San saw the moment his words sunk in, when Wooyoung caught the implication in his voice. His eyes went wide, shining in the dim candlelight. He closed his hands around San’s. “No,” he muttered, “You’re bluffing.” 

“You know how stubborn I am.” 

Wooyoung looked down at the floor, biting his lip, and San knew he was finally _getting_ somewhere.

“You _know_ it’s wrong,” San pushed. 

“But my father..”

“He’s human, not a god. You don’t have to bend to his every will,” San said. “Sometimes you have to treat kings like fathers.” He tilted Wooyoung’s chin up and forced Wooyoung to look at him. “And princes like friends.” 

He was taking a big risk, but Wooyoung _needed_ this push. San could see the conflict on his face, the struggle between doing what was _right_ and what he was taught his entire life. He could see the _fear_ , and for a second, he felt a tinge of guilt for putting Wooyoung in this position. 

But after a moment, Wooyoung gave in. He sighed and closed his eyes. “I’ll talk to him.” 

San stared at him. Wooyoung looked resigned, the fight out of him in a matter of seconds. After all this arguing, he didn’t think he’d actually get Wooyoung to agree. “Y-Yeah?” He stumbled over the word. 

“Yeah,” Wooyoung said. “He’s not going to change anything, but… I’ll talk to him.” 

San beamed at him. The tension in the room was too thick, too tangible, and he was glad it was finally clearing. He poked Wooyoung’s cheek, and the Prince frowned. “Don’t get your hopes up, San. If you think _I’m_ stubborn…” 

San cut him off by pulling him into a tight hug. “You’re doing the right thing.” 

Wooyoung hesitated, but eventually he melted into San, bringing his arms around his middle. “I know.” 

And despite the seriousness of the conversation, despite how _angry_ San had gotten at Wooyoung, the only thing running through his mind was so trivial, so _unimportant,_ but…

He was hugging the Prince _._ The person in his arms was _Prince Wooyoung,_ and he was hugging him _back_. God, there’s one item off his nonexistent bucket list, for _sure._ He hooked a chin over Wooyoung’s shoulder and sighed. “Hmm, I’m tired.”

“Me too,” Wooyoung said. His voice squeaked at the end of the word, and San pulled away just enough to look at his face. 

“You okay?” he grinned. Wooyoung’s entire face was tinged pink, and his eyes glittered. San poked his cheek again (he _really_ needed to stop being so impulsive). 

Wooyoung hid his face in San’s chest. “I feel guilty,” he said. 

San pat Wooyoung’s head and hoped he couldn’t feel how fast his heart was beating. He couldn’t quite place where the exhilaration was coming from, but it was definitely _there,_ and Wooyoung could tease him for days about it if he wanted to. “For what? The servants?” 

“That too, but…” Wooyoung trailed off. 

“Go on.” 

“It took me so long,” he said. “And even then, I’m only doing it to keep _you_ safe.” 

San was about to say something, but Wooyoung cut him off. 

“I know I should care about the others just as much, and _that’s_ why I feel guilty. I _don’t_ ,” he took a deep breath. “But I want you to know that even before meeting you, I was planning on changing these things when I’m king.” He held on even tighter and looked up at San. “But because of you, I’ll talk to him tomorrow.” 

“I already said you’re doing the right thing,” San said. He felt his eyelids drooping, and he knew it was time to leave, or else he’ll collapse onto Wooyoung’s bed and just _stay_ there. He fiddled with the hem of Wooyoung’s shirt. “Can I take this off so I can get some sleep?” 

Wooyoung nodded and let San pull the shirt off and over his arms. “Good night, San,” he mumbled. 

“Night, Wooyoungie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooyoung: There’s something about you, San. I can’t quite put my finger on it.  
> Me: It’s the gay pining. 
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated. You guys keep my motivation up :))  
> And give that Spotify playlist a look if you want to! I spent a good amount of time on it :D 
> 
> Tl;dr: This chapter is basically just sprinkles of interaction while they get to know each other. At the end, San convinces Wooyoung to talk to his father about the mistreatment of servants.
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/lynnt1ny) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/lynnt1ny)


	5. His Father's Son Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There are better ways to wake me up, San.”
> 
> “Would you prefer a bucket of water?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I should add that a “(。-`ω´-)” is a change in POV in case that wasn’t clear. 
> 
> I split this chapter into 2 because I didn’t want it to be 10k.

Wooyoung had seen many executions in his life. 

On his twelfth birthday, Beomseok took him to his first beheading. He stood tall at his father’s side, up high on the balcony above the block. An hour later, Wooyoung found himself in front of a pail, the contents of his stomach coming up in waves. The cook sat behind him, patting his back, and next to him, Yeosang squeezed his hand. His father was nowhere to be seen. 

After that, they brought him to watch the next execution, and the next, and the next. And now, about a decade later, it was just another part of his crazy life. He was numb to it. 

Wooyoung was no stranger to death, which was why he felt so conflicted about San. 

In all his years, he never  _ knew _ anyone on the chopping block. Yes, he had seen one or two of them - had conversations with them, too, but they were always strangers. Nobodies. 

All Wooyoung had were a few knights. Yeosang. Hongjoong on an off-day. Yeosang’s servant, too, if he was being honest with himself. 

But they were all  _ safe _ . They all had some sort of protection. Even Seonghwa was too liked, too popular in the castle to get rid of easily. 

San wasn’t safe, especially with that mouth of his. 

And after San left his rooms that night, that crushing reality hit him hard. 

The room was dark, and Wooyoung lay on his side, his hands fisted in the sheets. Their conversation played over and over in his head, San threatening to  _ quit,  _ the implication of what that would mean for him. Out of everything they talked about, that was what Wooyoung was stuck on.  _ That  _ was what made him give in. 

Because while San hadn’t been in his life for too long, losing him would hurt like hell. 

He needed to keep San far, far away from his father and those few bastard lords of the castle. Seeing San with a few bruises put him off for an entire day, and Wooyoung couldn’t imagine what he may end up doing if… if something worse happened. 

He knew he would not sleep well. Not tonight. Not with the image of San on that block in his head and the inevitable conversation with his father looming over it. But he tried, and after hours of tossing and turning, he finally fell asleep. 

Before he knew it, the curtains were opening, and Wooyoung felt a sharp pain on his forehead. It took a second for him to realize it was San’s finger. 

San flicked him again, and Wooyoung flinched back and buried his face into his pillow with a groan. 

“There are better ways to wake me up, San.”

“Would you prefer a bucket of water?” 

Wooyoung huffed and pulled the blankets over the back of his head. There was something about hearing San’s voice first thing every morning. As much as he should hate it, he couldn’t help but hide his grin into the pillow, his stomach turning circles through the haze of the early morning. 

He heard San shuffling around the room, candles being lit, clothes getting picked out- this routine they had fallen into. Usually, San would immediately drag him out of bed, so Wooyoung was grateful for the extra minutes of shut-eye, although he spent the entirety of it hyperaware of San’s presence. 

But all good things must end, and Wooyoung stiffened when he heard footsteps right next to his head. Wooyoung felt San pull the covers off, the cool air striking his bare skin all at once and a warm hand on the back of his neck. 

“C’mon, you have stuff to do today,” San said. 

_ Oh, I’m aware, but... _

“Don’t wanna get up,” he slurred. 

San sighed, and Wooyoung felt rough hands roll him over onto his back. “Hurry up, you don’t want to be late for your council meetings.” 

Ah, of  _ course _ it had to be a council day. Great. 

San pat his cheek playfully, almost mockingly, and Wooyoung blinked open his eyes with a scrunched up nose. 

He would never admit it, but this was one of his favorite moments of the day. 

San’s face loomed above him, eyes forming little crescents on his face. His cheerfulness was contagious, and Wooyoung would never get enough of it, especially in mornings. Without meaning to, a small smile found its way to his lips. He flushed. 

“Alright, get up,” San said. He pulled Wooyoung up to a sitting position, his touch making Wooyoung’s skin  _ burn _ . 

Lately, Wooyoung had been more…  _ conscious _ of his state of dress around San. In the beginning, it didn’t matter. It never had before- not with any of the dozens of servants he’d gone through in his life. 

But San made him feel.. not weak, but  _ vulnerable _ . And of course, Wooyoung trusted him, but it was a weird feeling, something he couldn’t explain with words. 

“ _ I’m _ the one who gives the orders, San,” he mumbled, not awake enough to give a better quip. 

“Not now, you aren’t.” 

Wooyoung shook his head, and he sighed as San kept tugging on his arm. “I hate you so much,” he said, no bite to his words. 

“And I hate when you refuse to get up,” San said. “It’s like you are  _ trying _ to make my job a nightmare.” 

“You’re not wrong.” 

Wooyoung flopped back on the bed, and he pulled San along with him, sending San sprawling on his stomach next to him on the bed. He closed his eyes. 

“You’re so difficult,” San groaned from his side. “I even let you sleep in a bit. What’s going on with you today?” 

“Tired,” Wooyoung mumbled. Lying down again, Wooyoung could already feel sleep drawing him back in, San’s weight on the bed next to him a comforting presence. 

But San was having none of it. He sat up, and from his new position, he dug his arms underneath Wooyoung’s body and rolled him over, getting him precariously to the edge of the bed. 

“ _ San! _ I just need a few more minutes.” 

“Yeah, and then a ‘few’ minutes will turn into five. And then ten, and the next thing you know, we’ve been asleep for  _ hours _ and you miss your boring council meetings.” 

_ We. _

And now Wooyoung could only think about sleeping with San.  _ Just sleeping _ . Of course, San could never spend the night here. Everyone knew the guards were avid gossipers. Rumors would spread like crazy.  _ No.  _ He couldn’t let himself entertain those thoughts, although the reason  _ why _ he desperately wanted it escaped him. 

It seemed San finally had enough, though, and Wooyoung yelped as San shoved him completely off the bed. 

Wooyoung landed hard on his back, the air knocked out of him. “One day, I’m  _ actually _ going to put you in the stocks where you belong,” he said. 

“It’s a waste of food.” 

“And you’re a waste of space.” 

“Ouch.” 

San laid stomach down on the bed, his arms and head hooked over the side to peer down at Wooyoung with a grin, dimples out. 

Treason. 

“I can’t believe you just did that,” Wooyoung said. 

“What?” 

“Push the Crown Prince off his bed.” 

“Ooo you’re adding ‘crown’ to your title now? Fancy.” 

“I  _ am  _ the Crown Prince. The ‘crown’ was always there.” 

“Whatever you say.” 

Wooyoung hummed and stared up at San. He had never met someone who challenged him as much as San did (except maybe Yeosang). He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it, though. These mornings were the best kind of torture, allowing them to banter without the eyes of the kingdom on them. A very,  _ very _ selfish part of him was glad there was no end-date to San’s servant term, quickly followed by guilt. He had to remember that San was only there because he thought he would die otherwise. San was trapped. Jesus christ, this would  _ never _ leave Wooyoung’s head. 

“Please don’t tell me you’re going to fall asleep on the  _ floor.”  _ San grumbled from above him. 

“It’s very likely.” 

“God, you’re a nuisance.” 

Wooyoung hummed and laid his hands over his stomach. “Just for that, I think you should attend the council meeting with me.” 

San visibly perked up. “No random chores to throw at me today?” 

Wooyoung shook his head, probably getting dirt all in his hair (San hadn’t washed the floors in a while, but what did he expect?). “Trust me. Council meetings are worse.” 

“Doubtful.” 

“Yep. You’ll see  _ exactly _ what I mean. It’ll be the most boring hour or so of your life.” 

“Uh huh.”

It was hard to keep looking at San without breaking into a smile, so Wooyoung closed his eyes instead, ignoring the man above him. 

“Alright, that’s it!” 

Wooyoung heard San get up, and Wooyoung expected to feel San’s hands on him again, wrestling him back up. But instead, he spluttered when a splash of cold water hit his face, shocking him out of his drowsy state. 

_ “Choi San, you asshole!”  _ he thundered. He sat up and wiped at his face, his attempts to dry it in vain. San laughed and danced to the other side of the room, an empty cup in his hand. “Is that from my breakfast?” Wooyoung spluttered, and San only laughed louder. 

That morning, if San had to spend extra time getting bits of food out of Wooyoung’s hair, they didn’t say anything, and Wooyoung  _ definitely _ didn’t say anything when San walked out of his chambers with berry juice staining his cheek. 

The council meetings weren’t boring. 

At least, they weren’t as boring as usual. 

When he originally brought up the idea, Wooyoung had forgotten it would put San and the King in the same room, along with the King’s old advisors and, dare he say, Beomseok’s ‘ _ friends’ _ \- the exact group of people he vowed to keep San away from. He realized what he had done on the way there, and the internal screaming started, followed by the concealed panic.

Behind him, San must have realized something was wrong, because he sped up his steps, walking closer and setting a grounding hand on Wooyoung’s nape. Wooyoung briefly wondered how San was already attuned to his emotions so well. 

“Are you, ah, going to bring up the servants during the meeting?” San asked, and Wooyoung stopped, looking over at San. 

“After,” he said. 

San nodded, and he gave Wooyoung a reassuring smile. “You’ll do great.” 

Wooyoung took the sleeve of his green shirt and wiped it against San’s cheek. “And  _ you _ need to stay quiet.” 

“You don’t need to worry about me.” San winked. “I  _ aced _ my first impression, or did you forget how I ended up as your servant in the first place?” 

“Just… be careful.” 

“And here I thought you were worried about talking to your dad.” 

Wooyoung shrugged with a grimace. “That too.” 

“Well,” San hummed. “In the meantime, I’ll be your perfect little servant. No need to worry.” He took Wooyoung’s shoulders and spun him around, giving him a little push. “You're actually going to be late if we keep getting distracted.”

Wooyoung huffed and walked ahead, feeling slightly better (but not much). 

Which brought him to the meetings themselves. 

They weren’t boring- not with San there.

To Wooyoung’s surprise, it began completely fine. He sat at a long table along with his father and his advisors. The number of servants were limited due to confidentiality, but they allowed Wooyoung a single servant at his beck and call, standing off behind him. The servants rotated after an hour, but that was plenty enough time for San to endure the torment that was council meetings. Plus, he still needed to clean those damn floors. 

Wooyoung wasn’t prepared for how  _ weird _ it was to see San like this, so timid and  _ quiet _ . It felt wrong, and every time he glanced back at him, he had to bite his lip and look away. San didn’t look anyone in the eye, and that alone made Wooyoung uneasy. 

He was being perfect, just like the other servants. It  _ was _ perfect. Maybe Wooyoung didn’t have to worry all along. 

But not even ten minutes into the meeting, San had to go and be  _ San _ . 

As he went to fill Wooyoung’s water for the first time, he leaned in  _ far _ too close, and Wooyoung’s breath hitched. “Your dad’s totally spacing out already,” he whispered into Wooyoung’s ear. “And the guy to the left of him  _ really _ needs to use the chamberpot.” He sniggered lightly before retreating back to his post, once again resuming his subservient mannerisms. 

Wooyoung closed his eyes and took a deep breath, wondering what he did wrong in a past life to deserve this. 

He glanced back again and glared. He saw San’s eyes flick up, roaming around the table before he smiled back and stuck his tongue out at Wooyoung. 

Lord help him. 

And like a switch, San’s eyes were back on the floor, shoulder’s slightly hunched. 

Wooyoung hated this. 

He tried to focus on the proceedings. As boring as it was, they were discussing important matters for the kingdom, and Wooyoung would need to use these outcomes to make his own decisions in the future. San made it impossible, though. Throughout the next hour, he found excuses to come up behind Wooyoung and whisper jokes and quips into his ear. It no longer became a question of whether he’d get caught, but whether Wooyoung could keep his composure together in such a serious setting. 

One thing was for sure: Wooyoung was  _ never _ taking San to one of these again. 

He breathed a sigh of relief when the servant rotation finally came, and San gave him a discreet salute on the way out. Wooyoung pursed his lips together, slightly shaking his head in exasperation. 

And then his father was taking to him, and Wooyoung’s attention snapped back to the table. 

“How is that new servant of yours, Wooyoung?” Beomseok asked. His gaze bored into him, and Wooyoung tried to settle into an expression of indifference. 

“He’s perfect, just like you said he was,” Wooyoung said. He prayed his father would leave it at that. 

He didn’t.

Beomseok clasped his hands together with a grin. “So you are satisfied with my choice?” 

“Very.” 

The King then turned to his advisors and said, “See? The things one can accomplish when giving others the right… motivation.” 

Wooyoung felt his stomach drop. He just knew his talk with his father would not go well.

(。-`ω´-)

San was never going to a council meeting again. 

Don’t get him wrong: Annoying Wooyoung was always a fun pastime, but not in front of the most powerful people in the kingdom. 

He couldn’t help it though. 

Wooyoung was obviously too pent up. He needed to relax, and it wasn’t like San could walk up and wring the tension out of his shoulders (Even if they were alone, he probably wouldn’t do that. They weren’t… there yet). But Wooyoung being anxious made  _ San _ anxious, so he did the next best thing.

San had noticed that after a long day of dealing with officials and the pressures of the castle, Wooyoung always loosened up when San talked to him, whether it be just the sound of his voice, or the constant teasing. 

San didn’t know what to do with that information, but he thought he might as well use it to his advantage then. It seemed to work, and San gave himself a mental pat on the back. 

It was stressful, though- maintaining the facade. He tried to imitate the other servants. It seemed to work, as no one said anything, but San wasn’t so sure he’d be eager to do it again. 

After he was dismissed, Wooyoung probably thought San would go do some stupid chore for him like always, but San went back behind the training grounds instead. He passed by the pavilion (which San later found out was an extension of the castle armory), and he headed to the field Wooyoung had pushed him into on San’s second day in his service. 

The familiar sight of blue petals greeted him. The flowers really were beautiful, but San couldn’t help but notice how strange they were at the same time. For one, they grew across the floor in vines, a few twisting up trees on the far side of the field. And second, they wouldn’t stop dying. 

He went there at night, once, on an errand for Hongjoong (he needed a few herbs from the forest), and the entire field was desolate. The flowers were shriveled up and colorless where there was once brilliant blue. 

When he woke the next day, he went to go investigate under the early light of the morning, only to find new blooms in their places. The flowers never lasted more than a day, but they always came back in a never-ending cycle.

Which was inconvenient when you wanted to keep a vase of them in the Prince’s room. 

San stooped down and picked a few from the field before heading back in the direction he came from. 

The castle was quiet today. The weather was nice as well, slightly warmer than it had been the past few days, and San thought he might as well take a stroll after he finished Wooyoung’s tedious list of chores. The fresh air was pleasant, too. Maybe he’d take Hongjoong along; that man  _ really _ needed a break. 

San wished he could do something more to thank Hongjoong for everything. Running an errand every now and then didn’t feel like  _ enough _ . Hongjoong had been nothing but kind and caring. Not only did he offer his hospitality, but he also endured San’s rants and occasional complaints about Wooyoung. Hongjoong’s very presence was warm and inviting. He made San feel at home. 

San didn’t pass many people on his way to Wooyoung’s chambers, so it surprised him to see Yeosang and Seonghwa up ahead in the corridor. Yeosang leaned up against one side of the stone wall, and Seonghwa stood to his side, already raising a hand to wave at San. 

Yeosang straightened as he drew closer. No matter how many times San saw him, Yeosang’s beauty was always a shock, blonde locks making him look almost ethereal. “San!” he called. “It’s been a while.” 

San smiled. “I literally saw you both yesterday.” 

Yeosang waved a hand dismissively. “Doesn’t feel like it.” 

Seonghwa noticed the flowers in San’s hand then. “Oh? Who’s the lucky girl?” He reached over and took one in his hand, bringing it up to his nose. 

Yeosang laughed. “Those are the flowers Wooyoung is obsessed with, Seonghwa.” 

San rolled his eyes. “They’re a nuisance.” 

“Well, they’re pretty,” Seonghwa said. He tucked the one in his hand behind Yeosang’s ear. “He has good taste.” 

San smiled. He wished he and Wooyoung had the same bond Seonghwa and Yeosang did. After a few weeks of afternoon talks and dining, it was obvious to anyone that Yeosang and Seonghwa had something special. They trusted each other wholeheartedly, almost closer than friends, so of course San couldn’t do anything but smile when he saw them together. Their friendship was so…  _ pure _ . Hanging out with them was a nice change of pace after dealing with Wooyoung all day. 

“So you’re taking these to Wooyoung’s room?” Yeosang brushed a hand over the flower in his hair. 

“Yes! I’m heading there now,” San said. “So.. no. No girl.” He bit back laughter at Seonghwa’s slightly embarrassed expression. “Would you both like to join me? I feel like I’ve been hogging his company lately.” 

But Yeosang was already shaking his head. “No, it’s alright. You’re just doing your job.” He smiled. “But do tell Wooyoung that if he doesn’t arrange that picnic he promised me soon, there’ll be hell to pay.” 

“Will do,” San laughed. 

Wooyoung’s room really was a mess. 

If one of the King’s advisors ever walked in, San would probably be out of a job (and his head), but in his defense, it was merely… organized chaos. 

He made the bed every morning at least, so he gets points there. Everything else on the other hand was atrocious. Negative points.

His weird obsession with keeping fresh flowers in the room came from absolutely nowhere, or at least, he thought it did. He thought back to Wooyoung's first complaint, about how his last servant let the flowers die. 

Despite the teasing and the jokes, Wooyoung rarely ever complained about his actual service, so that comment really struck a chord in him. Wooyoung would never admit it, but San had a feeling he actually liked the mess. It wasn’t  _ gross _ or anything, just disorganized. It made the room feel more homey. 

San heard Wooyoung walk in as he set the flowers in place in the corner of the room. The door closed with a deafening thump, followed by a suffocating silence. San’s greeting died on his lips when he turned around and saw the state Wooyoung was in. 

Wooyoung leaned back against the closed door. His hands covered his face, and his shoulders shuddered as he took long, deep breaths. 

San didn’t know what to do. Did Wooyoung want him to stay? Was he alright? No, that was a stupid question. San had never seen him look so… lost. 

“Wooyoung?” San called out, a question in his voice. 

The boy jolted from his position, as if just noticing San’s presence in the room. His hands slid down, revealing wide, glassy eyes. He didn’t say anything. 

San took a few tentative steps forward, and when Wooyoung stayed silent, he closed the distance quickly. “Hey, Woo?” San lightly brushed the back of one of Wooyoung's hands. “Hey, let’s go sit down.” He placed a firm hand on Wooyoung’s lower back and led him to sit on the edge of his bed. 

He couldn’t shake the feeling that  _ this was his fault. _ Maybe he really shouldn’t have pushed Wooyoung to do this. It obviously didn’t go well, and Wooyoung tried so hard to tell him that last night. He  _ knew _ this would happen, yet he went and did it anyways.

All because San asked him to. 

“I’m guessing it didn’t go well?” San voiced his thoughts. He kept a steady hand on Wooyoung’s back, and he looked into his face with genuine concern. 

He felt so out of his depth in this situation. 

San hugged him last night. That alone crossed so many lines as a servant. Would Wooyoung want him to hug him again?  _ Could _ San hug him again? He didn’t know how to comfort people. He didn’t know how to help, but he  _ needed _ to help. This was all his fault. 

Wooyoung shook his head. “I knew it wouldn’t go well, but I wanted to try,” he said. He sighed. “I really wish I could do more to help. It’s hard under his constant watch, though.” 

San assumed he was talking about the King. “Well, it’s not like he has eyes  _ everywhere. _ I mean, look at us now.” He wrapped an arm around Wooyoung’s shoulders, carefully looking for any signs of discomfort.

“True,” Wooyoung hummed. “I could try to pull something behind his back. I don’t know how effective it’ll be, but it’s something.” 

“Baby steps.” 

“Yeah.” 

Wooyoung bit his bottom lip and looked away. His shoulders hunched under San’s arm, but when San moved to pull away, Wooyoung pressed even closer. 

“You’re still upset,” San said, trying to ignore how his heart sped at the action. There were more important things to deal with right now, like how Wooyoung still looked seconds from crying, and honestly, San was impressed by how long Wooyoung kept himself together. 

“I mean, I  _ knew _ going to him would be pointless, but…” 

San let Wooyoung rest his head on his shoulder. This was  _ definitely  _ crossing some sort of line.  _ Dammit, that’s not important right now.  _ “But?”

“He changed the topic. After his whole speech about me going soft, he changed the topic.”

“And?” San gently pressed him again. The weight on his shoulder shifted, and San looked over to see Wooyoung gazing up at him with a quiver to his lip. 

_ Too close, too close. God, San, stop thinking about this and  _ help him.

“He wants me to marry.” 

“Marry?” San asked, his thoughts screeching to a halt.

Wooyoung nodded, his chin digging into San's shoulder. “He said to start thinking about it- that he’s getting old, and I need… I need an heir.”

“Oh.” San didn’t know what to say. Wooyoung was obviously upset about this. Wasn’t marriage… good? Maybe not if Wooyoung didn’t want it. Now that he thought about it, Wooyoung had never mentioned having an interest in anyone in the castle. “Do you have anyone in mind?” he blurted out. 

Wooyoung sighed. “No,” he said. “Knowing him, he’ll marry me off for a stupid alliance that could have been secured with simple negotiations.” 

San mulled over that with a wince. He had forgotten that the royal family didn’t marry for  _ love _ . They married for their weird, convoluted politics and treaties. San squeezed Wooyoung’s shoulder. “You could always say no. It’s not like you  _ have _ to do something just because your father wants it,” he said. “It’s  _ your _ life.” 

“Is it really?” Wooyoung said. “Ever since I was born, my life has been dedicated to this kingdom and its people. I knew I would have to marry, eventually. I just thought I had more  _ time _ .” 

“But this is something you can say no to,” San said. “When you take the throne, a happy king will be better than a miserable one.” With his free hand, he pat Wooyoung’s knee. “You should marry for love.” 

“I don’t love anyone.” 

San smiled. “You will eventually.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A smart google search might tell you what the flowers are ;)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated! The second part of this chapter will be coming shortly. 
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/lynnt1ny) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/lynnt1ny)


	6. His Father's Son Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What village are you from, anyway? You've never told me,” Wooyoung said.
> 
> “You've never asked.” 
> 
> “Well, I’m asking now, aren’t I?”

Having San as a servant was a whirlwind.

A month passed, and not only did San get more irritating, but Wooyoung grew more attached, as if he weren’t already too close in the first place. His feeling that San was going to be the death of him grew as each day passed. 

But seriously, seeing him every day, every morning, was going to make him have a heart attack. He could see a premature death in his future, all because San  _ smiled  _ at him. Yes, it was getting  _ this bad _ . 

The days were growing colder, and a new chill set into the air, harsh and unforgiving against his bare skin. Wooyoung didn’t like winter. It made training difficult, and the heavier clothes were just as suffocating as the additional duties the season brought. 

Winters in Sinsu were nothing to scoff at, and when Wooyoung caught sight of the first snow of the year, he felt a growing sense of dread settle in the pit of his stomach. 

San liked winter. He said it was the prettiest season. He liked the shorter days and the snow that came with it. He told Wooyoung that hugs were always warmer in winter. Nowadays, Wooyoung could find San sitting by his fireplace, a hot drink in his hand and a content smile on his lips. He was always there, waiting for Wooyoung to return.

San made winter bearable. 

A few days prior, Yeosang asked him what their relationship was, and Wooyoung couldn’t find the words to answer him. They were friends, that’s for sure. They bickered, and they fought, but San made him  _ better _ . When the weight of Wooyoung’s responsibilities crushed him, San was there to pick up the pieces and remind him he was human too. 

When Wooyoung heard he was getting a new manservant, he had no idea how deep he’d  _ sink. _ His father would say he was too dependent on him, too attached, and Wooyoung  _ knew _ that. But he couldn’t help it. He didn’t know when he started to fall, but San kept him from hitting the ground. 

And then San wanted to leave.

“I was wondering if I could have a few days off,” San had said. He was draped across Wooyoung’s bed on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Wooyoung was sitting at his desk, trying to review concerning reports from Sinsu’s borders. He couldn’t focus on them, and San's voice had finally broken his concentration for good. 

“You want a few days off?” Wooyoung asked. 

“Yeah... that’s what I just said.” 

A few days. Without San. 

He was suddenly back to those old days of waking up, playing the part, and going back to sleep- the same unending, monotonous routine, the one without San. 

“Why?” 

San hummed. “My mum’s birthday is soon. I don’t want her to be alone.” 

Oh. 

Wooyoung knew San missed his home. He didn’t talk about it much, but Wooyoung heard the wistful quality of his voice the few times he did mention it. He felt guilty, wanting San to think of the castle as his home instead, like Wooyoung did. He wanted San to feel at home.

But he couldn’t say no to this. 

“Okay.” 

San laughed. “That was easy.” 

Wooyoung looked back down at his reports, and he furrowed his eyebrows. 

_ He didn’t want San to leave.  _

And he knew he was being selfish, but he couldn’t help it. 

“What village are you from, anyway? You've never told me,” Wooyoung said.

“You've never asked.” 

“Well, I’m asking now, aren’t I?” 

San lazily stretched and sat up, looking over at Wooyoung. There was something almost cat-like in the way he moved. Wooyoung tried his best to ignore how San’s simplest movements put him on edge. “Balor. You’ve probably never heard of it. It’s on the border of Sinsu and Essetir.” 

Wooyoung sighed. That was far. Too far. 

“Do you.. want a horse?” he asked. In his head, he frantically tried to think of a valid excuse to keep San here with him without him seeming like an asshole. He came up blank. 

“I’d appreciate one.” 

Wooyoung nodded and scribbled a quick note addressed to the stablehands. 

“How long will you be gone?” he muttered. 

“A week at most.” 

_ A week. _

He could go an entire week without San. Hell, he’d spent the past twenty years without him. Surely he could last a  _ week. _

Winter was going to kill him. Maybe  _ San _ would not be the death of him, but his absence surely will. 

“Seonghwa said he’d take over my duties,” San said. 

“You already asked him?” 

San nodded. “Yeah, I’ve been, uh, planning this for a while.” 

Wooyoung gave him a faint smile. “Well, you have my blessing.” He really  _ didn’t _ , but how could Wooyoung say no? 

“And your horse,” San got up and winked, walking over and taking the slip of parchment from Wooyoung’s desk. 

Wooyoung scrunched up his nose. “Not  _ my  _ horse _.  _ Carla wouldn’t tolerate your bony ass.” 

“Carla loves me.” 

“When are you leaving?” Wooyoung changed the subject because of  _ course _ his horse loved him.  _ Everyone _ loved San. 

“Tomorrow morning. I’m afraid you’ll miss my handsome face when you wake up.” 

“Seonghwa is nicer to look at,” Wooyoung retorted. 

_ No, he isn’t, you liar.  _

“Whatever you say,” San said. He smiled. “I’ll see you tonight, then. I’m going to go get packed up.” 

Wooyoung nodded in reply. “Make sure you bring something warm.” 

San scoffed. “You don’t have to worry about me, Wooyoungie.” 

He turned and left, and the dread of spending an entire week without San continued to grow now that Wooyoung was alone. Seonghwa was a fine servant, but it won’t be the  _ same _ . He already missed San like he would miss his own limb. This will not bode well. 

Wooyoung glanced down at the reports on his desk in an attempt to distract himself from this. He read over the words in a daze.

_ Balor…. On the border of Sinsu and Essetir.  _

The borders. 

These reports came from the borders. 

Wooyoung bit his lip.

He had an idea. A stupid, horrible idea that could get both him  _ and _ San in a lot of trouble. 

San may not be using Wooyoung’s horse, but  _ Wooyoung _ could… 

Seonghwa woke him with little ceremony. While San would have jumped on him and jabbed at his side, laughing in his ear, Seonghwa merely shook him awake. It was calming- a pleasant start to the day that  _ didn’t _ involve cursing at the top of his lungs and impromptu wrestling. 

Wooyoung missed San. 

Last night, San was so excited, so happy to leave him. He didn’t even call Wooyoung any names. He didn’t poke him or playfully slap his side. Instead, he talked about Balor. He talked about his mother. 

And Wooyoung listened. Of course he did. San’s life was always so private to Wooyoung, something outside his circle of control. He clung to every detail like a fish hooked on a line. 

San’s mother was named Nala. She raised him alone. The fields of Balor were beautiful in the spring. San loved his mother’s cooking, even more so than anything he’d had in the castle. 

Wooyoung thought he’d learn to cook if it made San that happy. 

He added all of this to a mental list he had in his head, titled ‘New Things About San.’ It was an ever-growing list, one he didn’t realize he was even making until recently. 

Before San left last night, he gave Wooyoung a soft pat on the cheek. “I’ll be back before you know it,” he said, and of  _ course _ he knew how much this upset Wooyoung. 

Wooyoung tried to smile. “Take your time. My room will finally be clean for once without you.” 

San grimaced. “Don’t torture Seonghwa too much.” 

“No promises.” 

He was definitely going to torture Seonghwa. 

So when Seonghwa woke him up that morning, the first thing out of Wooyoung’s mouth was “Can you cover for me?” 

“Huh?” Seonghwa looked really confused, which was justified, but Wooyoung didn’t have the time to explain. San was probably long out of the front gates. Wooyoung needed time to catch up to him before he made it to Balor. 

“Just for a week. I need you to tell my father that I’m.. checking on the outer borders of the kingdom.” 

“And you can’t do this yourself?” 

“No, he’ll ask me too many questions that I won’t have answers for.” 

Seonghwa narrowed his eyes. “You’re going after San.” 

“Possibly.” 

With an exasperated huff, Seonghwa shook his head. “Yeosang told me you’re attached, but I didn’t think it was  _ this _ bad.” 

“Don’t remind me,” Wooyoung closed his eyes and stretched. “And tell Yeosang to mind his own business.” 

“That won’t stop him.” 

“No shit.” Wooyoung got up and tried to shake the weariness out of his head. He was wasting time. 

“Let’s get going.” 

After giving Yeosang and a few of his knights a quick goodbye, Wooyoung felt the familiar sway of his horse beneath him. He hadn’t been able to ride in a long time, his duties growing as each day passed. He missed it, though. He missed the freedom it gave him. He missed the wind in his hair and the castle to his back.

Despite grumbling about it, Seonghwa helped pack his bags. He put Wooyoung in chainmail and wrapped him in furs. “Yeosang and San would kill me if I let you go unprepared,” he said. 

Yes. Yes, they would. 

Wooyoung considered taking a knight along too, maybe Jongho, but ultimately decided against it. Wooyoung himself was intrusion enough. After all, he was ultimately crashing San’s time with his family and friends at home. He mentally prepared himself for how annoyed San was going to be to see him. 

He shot past the front gates of the citadel. The guards gave him strange looks as he went. It wasn’t every day the Prince left unannounced. He couldn’t turn back now, and he could only hope he packed enough rations to last the journey. 

The snow quickly became a problem, and he couldn’t urge his horse to go faster without fear of slipping or injury. As he moved further and further from the city, his pace slowed to a trot, and he cursed winter for the hundredth time. 

At least it meant San couldn’t have gone far. After scouring over maps, Wooyoung found only one major route that could safely bring him to Balor. That must be the one San was taking. It cut through the forests that surrounded Sinsu, and Wooyoung prayed he’d catch up before San reached it. It didn’t look promising, though, as he could already see the line of trees up ahead. 

A doubt held fast in the back of his mind, one that said San wasn’t going this way, that he wouldn’t be happy to see him (what was he kidding, San probably planned this not only to visit his mother, but to get  _ away _ from Wooyoung. That was it). Not for the first time, Wooyoung questioned his actions and wondered why the hell he was putting himself through this. 

It was cold. It was damn winter. Wooyoung’s nose and his cheeks grew pink as the wind bit at them. Bits and pieces of ice stuck in his hair, turning it gray, and through the layers of fur and clothes, he felt himself grow numb. Although it wasn’t even midday, he couldn’t wait to stop and make camp, to sit by the fire and fall asleep to the sound of crackling wood. 

If Wooyoung felt like this already, San was probably miserable right now. 

What was he going to say to San? _ ‘Hey, surprise? I didn’t want you to leave, so I’m forcing you to take me to your village?’  _ or _ ‘It’s dangerous out here, and I couldn’t bear for you to get hurt?’  _

By taking this trip, Wooyoung was driving a stake through his pride. 

Still, he kept going. He kept riding until the trees enveloped him and shadows danced on the ground below him. Where there used to be various shades of dark green, the forest was a patchwork of ice and snow—a crystallic wonderland, vicious but beautiful. 

In the end, he didn’t find San. San found  _ him. _

He was traveling by foot then, leading his horse through some tricky bramble and narrow passages.  _ This _ was why he wanted to catch San before the forest, no matter how impossible it seemed. The pace felt too slow, and despite being extremely familiar with the maps and environment, he felt like he was starting to go in circles. 

That is, until he heard a very,  _ very _ loud voice off the side of the path. 

“ _ Wooyoung? What the fuck?”  _

Wooyoung’s head snapped up. And there he was. 

San wore a long fur coat. It was slightly too short for him, and Wooyoung guessed it came straight from Hongjoong’s closet. His hair was mussed from travel, and he held the reins to one of the castle horses as it lapped at the snow on the ground. His face matched Wooyoung’s—flushed from the cold, and his mouth was stuck open in shock. San looked so bewildered, and it would have been funny if Wooyoung wasn’t desperately trying to think of something to say in response.

“What the  _ hell _ are you doing out here? Don’t you have important prince stuff to do?” San said the words so fast that Wooyoung was surprised he didn’t stumble over them. 

“Obviously not.” 

“So.. you came after me.” 

“I did not.”  _ I so did _ . 

“Then why are you here?” 

“Border patrol.” 

San nodded condescendingly. “Okay… where’s the patrol?” 

“ _ I’m  _ the patrol.” 

“I’m pretty sure patrols consist of at least three or four knights.” 

Wooyoung didn’t have an answer to that. 

San smirked. “I can’t believe you came all this way… for what? To annoy me? Give me more orders?” 

“This chainmail  _ could _ use some cleaning.” 

“Not happening. I’m on break, remember?” 

Wooyoung shook his head. “Could you at least  _ pretend _ to be happy to see me?” 

San rolled his eyes. “Oh, I’m  _ so _ happy,” he said. 

“You should be. It’s, uh, dangerous out here. Are you even armed? ” 

San dramatically turned in a circle, arms outstretched. “Where’s the danger, hm?” He smiled at Wooyoung, and the forest stayed quiet, with only the soft rustle of snow falling from branches and a chirp from a nearby bird. 

“It’ll come eventually,” Wooyoung said. 

“Uh-huh.” 

Wooyoung rolled his eyes. “Let’s just go.” He pulled on the reins of his horse, and he took a few steps forward and turned back to where San stood still dumbly. “Are you coming or not?” 

San stared at him. “You’re coming to Balor? For the week?” 

“Is that okay?” Wooyoung held his breath as a grin slowly spread across San’s face, and his earlier worries dissipated just like that. 

“It’s more than okay. I’m just… surprised,” San said. He brought his horse forward, and then they were walking side by side on the path, their horses trailing just behind them. Wooyoung focused on the crunch of snow beneath his boots, the way even the slightest brush of wind stung his skin. 

He glanced at San every now and then. His eyes were still wide, and Wooyoung could see the gears turning in his head. “What is it?” Wooyoung eventually asked, his head tilted to the side. 

San tried to hide his smile, but Wooyoung caught how the corners of his mouth tilted up. “Nothing, it’s just… “he hesitated. “I can’t believe I’m taking you  _ home _ . You’re… you're going to meet my  _ mum _ .” He shook his head with a small laugh, “It doesn’t feel real.” 

This seemed like a big deal to San. Intrigued, Wooyoung pushed. “How so?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Why doesn’t it feel real? It’s only natural that I meet her. I mean, we’ve been friends for a while now. You’ve met  _ my _ father.” 

“It’s not the same,” San said. “Everyone in my village idolizes you.  _ I _ idolized you. Growing up, I was obsessed with hearing stories of the  _ great Prince Wooyoung _ .” 

His words gave Wooyoung a small smile, and he looked away. 

“And now I’m taking you home, and  _ it doesn’t feel real _ , _ ” _ San finished. 

“Ah.”

They finally reached an open area where it was safe to ride their horses, but Wooyoung didn’t want to get up. He wanted to stay on the ground with San. It was easier to talk. He didn’t want to end this conversation. 

He also wanted San to relax. 

And then he had an idea. A fantasy that he  _ shouldn’t _ indulge in- a thought worming into his head until he made a terrible, impulsive decision. It’ll be too good to be true, but… 

“Maybe it’ll be better if they don’t know it’s  _ me _ ,” Wooyoung said. “I could just a friend from the castle, borrowing fancy supplies to keep us safe for the journey.” 

San gave him a strange look. “Why would we do that?” he asked. 

Wooyoung shrugged. “It’ll attract less attention. You could spend more time with your mother uninterrupted,” he said. 

That wasn’t the real reason, and he knew San could see right through him. 

Thankfully, he didn’t say anything about it. 

“Sure, sounds like a plan,” San replied. 

Eventually, they mounted their horses and continued on. They spent much of the journey in a comfortable silence, which was unusual for the both of them, but Wooyoung didn’t mind. When their breathing grew heavy, they took breaks and ate, feeding the horses and sitting on the frozen floor. 

It became apparent that they would not make it to Balor in one day, and Wooyoung didn’t  _ expect _ them to, but the hope for a warm bed and warm food was always there in the back of his mind, nagging at him. They would have to stop for the night. 

As the sun dipped below the tops of the trees, San and Wooyoung set out to find a good place to set up camp. They found a nice clearing off the side of the path, not far enough for them to get lost, but far enough to give them privacy. A high cliff backed one side of it while trees enclosed them in a half-circle on the other. The sky glowed a light lilac, reflecting off icicles that were frozen in time above them, and Wooyoung would have noted the potential danger and moved them if he wasn’t so damn  _ tired _ . 

They cleared a patch of ground of its snow. San worked on getting a fired started, and Wooyoung secured their horses, taking out rations and bedrolls from their packs. It was growing dark  _ fast _ , and Wooyoung had forgotten how short the days felt at this time of the year. 

When he turned around, San already had a clump of dry wood on the ground, and he worked with a crease in his forehead and a spark of concentration in his eyes. Wooyoung watched and waited for the smug satisfaction San always sported after completing even the smallest tasks. 

A bright flame started up, and Wooyoung smiled. “Would you look at that? You  _ are  _ useful sometimes.” 

San stuck his tongue out at him and sprawled back on the floor. “Finally warm,” he groaned. 

And yes,  _ god _ , the fire felt so nice after their ride. Wooyoung dropped his armful of supplies on the floor and laid down himself, feeling his aching muscles finally relax at the warmth. 

Wooyoung heard San sigh on the other side of the fire before a rustle of movement. He glanced up and saw San standing over their materials. They had just laid down, and San was about to start heating their rations. 

“You don’t have to do that now,” Wooyoung said. “We’re both tired. Get some rest.” 

Wooyoung’s head lolled to the side, and he watched San stop and look over at him. Wooyoung probably looked like a mess- a clump of chainmail and furs, matted together from the damp snow. 

The fire illuminated one side of San’s face, the flickering light dancing across his features. He smiled. “ _ You _ get some rest. I’ll take care of you,” San said. He crouched down and rifled through their supplies, and Wooyoung couldn’t help but let his eyelids droop. The fire felt so nice. He wanted San to enjoy it too. 

In his exhaustion, he felt sleep claw at him, pulling him in, and in the back of his mind, he realized he didn’t utter a single command that day. 

San eventually woke him not too long after. They ate, and San tugged at Wooyoung’s clothing, muttering under his breath. With his back to the fire, he let San pull off the chainmail, leaving him in a thin undershirt and a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He felt light without the extra weight, the extra protection. He felt exposed, but it was okay because it was just San there. Only San. 

It was dark now. The moon was high in the sky, looming overhead, and Wooyoung felt a sense of contentment. It was nice. It was peaceful. 

They laid out their bedrolls on opposite sides of the fire, and Wooyoung longed to close the distance. He wanted to be able to reach out and touch him, and yes, it was  _ weird _ , but it felt so natural at the same time. He wanted so much, but there was that  _ line _ . It kept shifting, and it was dangerous to touch, to get close to. That fire was between them, and in the end, he knew stepping across it would only burn. 

“Good night, Wooyoungie,” San said. 

_ Good night.  _

They arrived at Balor the next evening. 

Even from a distance, Wooyoung could see low-roofed buildings and fields stretched behind them, frozen over by the cold. It was a quaint town, the kind where villagers knew  _ everyone _ and gossip ran fast. Suddenly, Wooyoung was glad they planned to keep his identity a secret. 

They dismounted at the entrance and tried their best to be inconspicuous walking in. San wanted his arrival to be a surprise. Glancing over, Wooyoung saw San’s face light up at the familiar streets. 

“It’s like nothing changed,” San said under his breath, and Wooyoung felt a tug in his gut. 

San led them to the far end of the village. Along the way, they attracted a few stares. Wooyoung was self-conscious in the armor, and he wished they spent the time to fabricate a better story for him, other than him being ‘a friend.’ He was used to being stared at, but for some reason, here, he felt the eyes sticking to him like leeches. 

One or two people came up to San and said hello. Wooyoung didn’t listen in to the conversations, though. He felt like he was intruding, like he wasn’t supposed to be there. To be honest, he really  _ wasn’t _ supposed to be there. It was unnerving in a way he’d never felt before. 

They stopped in front of a small house. It seemed worn from time and weather, but it was nice. It was just the kind of home Wooyoung would want to have if he wasn’t stuck in the castle—strong, stone walls with a hint of wooden paneling, and a thatched roof above to redirect the rain. 

Next to him, San smiled, and Wooyoung silently offered to take the reins of his horse with an outstretched hand. 

With the two horses at his side, Wooyoung felt a giddy excitement mixed with a dose of nerves. He was going to meet San’s mother.  _ San’s _ mother. If bringing Wooyoung home didn’t feel real to San, then  _ this _ definitely didn’t feel real to Wooyoung. With every step San took, Wooyoung’s nervous energy rose, and by the time San knocked on the door, he felt like a string ready to snap. 

Something shuffled inside, and then the door opened. A woman stepped out. Her hair was cut in a bob, and she wore a warm, woolen dress. She seemed younger than Wooyoung expected, in the way she presented herself, but she wore her age in the lines of her face, in the crinkles next to her cat-like eyes. 

The mother-son resemblance was uncanny, especially seeing the two together. 

_ He was meeting San’s mother.  _

It was crazy to him. 

“Sannie!” She exclaimed. She had a friendly smile. It was warm—comforting. 

San hugged her, a smile splitting his own face, eyes closed. Wooyoung once again felt like he was intruding, but this time it was something special, something he should be far away from, in the confines of his chambers. For the hundredth time, he didn’t  _ belong _ here. 

They broke apart. 

“I didn’t expect to see you so soon!” She said. Her voice was also deeper than Wooyoung expected. It was almost intimidating coming from her slight frame. She didn’t meet any of Wooyoung’s expectations- not in a bad way- and the more he thought about it, he realized neither had San when  _ they _ first met. It must run in the family. 

Wooyoung looked down at his feet as they talked. In a world where everything was about  _ him _ , where he had to stand tall, imposing, this was entirely new to him. Now, it was all  _ San _ . 

San’s mother spotted him then. She cocked her head to the side, and Wooyoung gulped. With a pat to San’s shoulder, Wooyoung’s heart rate picked up as she walked over to him. She was an entire head shorter than him, and for a split second, he wondered how San had the audacity to call  _ him _ short when his mother was…

“Who are you?” she asked, and Wooyoung made quick eye contact with San over her shoulder, a silent plea for help. 

“This is, uh, Young-ah,” San came up behind her, and Wooyoung found himself staring at two Chois. 

And then it registered. 

_ Young-ah? Really?  _

“He’s a friend I met in the castle,” San continued. “He offered to keep me safe for the trip.” 

San’s mother turned to look at him, an incredulous look on her face. “You? Friends?” 

A snort escaped Wooyoung, and San gasped with a sharp “Mum!” 

She sniggered, and suddenly she didn’t seem as intimidating as Wooyoung initially thought. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Choi,” Wooyoung said. 

“Please, call me Nala,” she replied. “And no need to be so formal. A friend of San’s is a friend of mine.” 

Wooyoung nodded. 

“And thank you for keeping him out of trouble.” She eyed the chainmail and the sword and cast San a questioning glance. “...Young-ah? Was it?” 

While she was turned away, Wooyoung gave San an exasperated look. Of course, San would choose ‘Young-ah’ of all names. It’s not like that’s too obvious or anything. 

Once again, he wished they actually took the time to think this through. 

“Yes, that’s him, haha.” 

_ Very convincing, San.  _

Nala smiled faintly. “Okay then. You’re lucky I have extra supplies for food tonight.” Wooyoung could  _ feel _ San’s enthusiasm like a tangible thing at the mention of her cooking, and he had to fight a smile off his own lips. “In the meantime,” she said. “I think the lil babes of Balor will be thrilled to see you.” 

_ Huh? _

That took Wooyoung slightly aback, but San seemed to know exactly what was coming. He brought a hand to his face and groaned. It did nothing to hide his smile, his dimples peeking through his fingers. “Where are they, then?” 

“I’m sure you’ll hear them when they find out you’re here,” Nala said. 

“It’s not like it’s a secret. We walked right through the village.” 

“Then they’ll come by soon,” she said. “Sending you off made me  _ really _ unpopular with them. I’ve had to deal with their whining for the past few  _ months _ .” 

“Do you want me to say sorry?” San asked. 

Nala shrugged. “That would be nice.” 

San pursed his lips together, and Wooyoung felt  _ lost _ . This entire conversation was going right over his head and into the streets behind him. Carla knickered next to him, and he focused on patting her muzzle, running a hand through her mane, the reigns to San’s horse hooked loosely through his arm. 

The distraction was nice, and he didn’t feel like he was eavesdropping anymore. His earlier worries began to settle slightly as San and Nala continued to chat. He could function again. 

That is, he could until the screaming started. 

San’s head shot up, a half-smile on his face, and he broke away from them, hurrying over to a large group of children on the path behind them. 

Wooyoung watched in slight horror as they tackled him, throwing snow in his hair and squealing his name in a chorus of  _ San. _ He fell to the ground with a loud “ _ Oof!”  _ and slightly shocked, Wooyoung brought a hand to his mouth and laughed. It was definitely strange, seeing San like this. He looked so  _ happy _ . His dimples were out in full force, and Wooyoung could hear his laugh go unrestrained. 

Wooyoung had never heard San laugh this much, this  _ loud _ . It was contagious, and Wooyoung couldn’t help but smile along, a new warmth filling him. 

_ San was so happy here _ . 

He couldn’t take his eyes off of him, his breathing unsteady with puffs of silent laughter. 

He felt a familiar sharp jab in his side, and he broke his gaze, turning his head to see Nala. San’s odd habit of randomly poking him suddenly made a lot of sense. 

“You’re really fond of him,” she said. 

Wooyoung jolted back, shocked out of his stupor. “Um,  _ no _ ?” 

She shook her head. “I can see it in your eyes,” she said. “Don’t worry, he has that effect on people.” 

“He does?” 

She nodded back to the kids. “See for yourself. They love him too.” 

_ Love. _

Wooyoung did  _ not _ love San. 

He almost broke into laughter again. They were friends, for sure, and Wooyoung traveled all this way to keep San safe, but there was a firm line between whatever feelings he had and  _ love _ . He had  _ not _ crossed it, and he never will. He couldn’t afford to. 

But looking at San now, he knew it would be easy to. 

“He’ll be busy for a while,” Nala said. “Let’s get the horses settled, and hopefully they’ll be done by then, though I doubt it.” 

Wooyoung nodded and let her lead the way. 

Warming up to Nala was an… experience. She held so many quirks that Wooyoung had grown to know as uniquely  _ San _ , and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t mess with his head. 

After the horses were secured, Nala took him back to her home. San was nowhere to be seen. Wooyoung would have been worried if Nala didn’t look so calm about it. 

“I doubt he’ll be back for another hour,” she said, and Wooyoung fought the urge to get up and start pacing. They were in the kitchen, and Nala was getting ready to cook their dinner. “Why don’t you get some rest? San will be here when you wake, and the food will be ready by then, too.” 

Wooyoung glanced over her shoulder at the pot, and he looked at the door. 

He thought about a happy San, talking about his mother’s cooking.

Bad idea. Great idea. 

“Actually, um, can you teach me?” 

There was no way Wooyoung was going to remember all of this, but he tried. He tried his best. 

The entire time, he worried San would walk through the door and catch him in the act, like learning to cook was some scandalous thing. It was for him, though. San would tease him relentlessly. 

Nala was an understanding and patient teacher, but underneath it all, Wooyoung could feel her slight frustration. He couldn’t fault her, though. He was terrible. 

Thankfully, the door stayed shut until it was finished. 

San looked like the walking dead when he came in. His hair stood up in spikes, and he had the most unenthused pout on his lips. Wooyoung wanted to wipe it away. 

He all but collapsed at the table, and Wooyoung sat beside him without a word. 

A silent San was a tired San, and Wooyoung could laugh at his hair at a different time. 

Nala placed a bowl in front of him, and the reaction was immediate. The smile on his face was blinding, and Wooyoung suddenly knew he’d be spending a  _ lot _ of time in the kitchen this week. 

The food was excellent. It was amazing. Somehow, even with Wooyoung’s blunders, Nala had made the best stew he had ever tasted, and that was a high compliment coming from the Crown Prince of Sinsu. 

San and Nala were talking, but Wooyoung completely spaced out. God, San really wasn’t kidding about her cooking, wasn’t he? Every bite left him wanting  _ more  _ until he was scraping at the bottom and sheepishly looking over to find both Chois not even halfway done. It would have been embarrassing if the food wasn’t so phenomenal. 

He gave himself another helping and tuned back into their conversation, smiling at the topic change. 

“So, San, according to your letters, you’re working for the Prince now?” 

“Yep. Unfortunately,” San answered with a mouth full of food. 

Wooyoung scoffed. 

“What’s he like? The Prince?” Nala asked. 

Oh? This was going to be interesting. Wooyoung leaned forward. He propped an elbow on the table and rested his chin on his hand, leering over at San. 

“Yeah, San. What’s the Prince like?” Wooyoung repeated the question. “I hear he’s  _ dashing _ .” 

San snorted and shoved at Wooyoung’s side. “He’s a brat.” 

Wooyoung gasped theatrically. “He’s a  _ heartthrob.  _ A few of the maids would kill for your job.” He felt San kick him from under the table, and he frowned at the dull ache it felt behind. 

“He’s very…” San took a second to think. “He’s very hard to describe.” 

Nala watched them with a glint in her eye. “Indulge me. Are the stories true?”

Wooyoung perked up. “Stories?” 

But San shook his head frantically. “ _ No _ .” He shoved Wooyoung again. “We aren’t talking about that now.” 

Nala grinned. “But they’re saying it’s happening,” she said. “There have been miracles happening, San. It’s magic.” 

_ Oh. The magic thing.  _

He didn’t want to think about it. He  _ never _ wanted to think about it. That was a whole other  _ world _ of pressure that Wooyoung didn’t want to put himself under. It was something he didn’t understand, something he couldn’t even contemplate. 

_ Him. Bringing magic back.  _

Unthinkable. 

“Are you sure?” San asked, and he glanced nervously over at Wooyoung. “Maybe it’s just coincidence.” 

“San… the village crop  _ doubled _ in the stores last night,” Nala said. “Your Prince must be doing wonders.” 

“He’s really not, though.” An edge of doubt burrowed its way into his voice, and San shifted. “At least, I don’t  _ think _ he is.” 

Nala shook her head. “There’s something special going on, San, and I’m so proud you’ll get to see it firsthand.” 

Despite the uncertainty of it all, he smiled. 

Wooyoung realized there was something San forgot to mention—there was only one spare mattress. 

Nala offered to give up her bed, but there was no way they’d agree to that, not with her hospitality and warm welcome. 

Which left them the mattress. 

And the bedrolls, too, but Wooyoung left those back with the horses, and no one had the energy to make the trek back to the stables at this time of night. 

They would have to share.

_ Lord have mercy,  _

After pulling Wooyoung’s top over his head, San wouldn’t look him in the eye. It was a cemented part of their routine. It was normal. 

But now that San wasn’t  _ leaving _ , it didn’t  _ feel _ normal. 

San changed into a thin undershirt while Wooyoung went to grab a large blanket that would cover both of them. Fuck, this was  _ real.  _ This was  _ happening. _

He walked over and laid on his back, waiting for San to come take his place too. He tucked the blanket under his chin and ignored the nerves that were going to make sleep impossible. 

San joined him not long after, on his back too. They didn’t speak. 

The heat from San’s body radiated off him in waves, enclosed beneath the blanket. He was close. Too close. 

After a few minutes, San reached over and laced their fingers together, palm against palm, and Wooyoung was sinking, sinking,  _ sinking. _

With that simple touch, Wooyoung didn’t think he’d ever resurface. 

But he also wanted  _ more.  _

Wooyoung looked over his shoulder, and he hesitated before tugging the blanket aside and rolling over, wrapping an arm snug around San’s waist. He laid his head on San’s chest, wondering what the hell he’d just done.

San let out a small whimper, and Wooyoung tightened his grip. “It’s cold,” he mumbled. He could hear,  _ feel _ , San’s heartbeat beneath him. It pulled him in. It sped, and it sped, and San’s hand was still in his, and he couldn’t  _ stop _ . He could get addicted to this. He  _ was _ addicted. This was a horrible, horrible idea. 

“You’re… cold?” San said into his hair. “Mmm, I think you’re just touch starved.” 

And he was right. Each point of contact made him  _ burn. _ It made his own heart race at the rate of San’s. He needed to stop. He needed  _ more _ . 

He needed to say something. 

“M’not touch starved. Not with you hanging on me all the time.” The early mornings. His worst nights. San was always there with a hand on his back. 

San hummed, and Wooyoung could  _ feel _ it against his chest. 

“Okay… then do you know why I touch you so much?” San asked. 

_ No, I don’t.  _

“Because you’re an ass who won’t respect royal boundaries?” 

San chuckled. Wooyoung was going to combust. He squeezed his eyes shut, but that only made him focus more on the warmth below him. 

“That too, but it’s because I know you like it.” 

Wooyoung snorted. “You’re delusional.” He was lying through his teeth. He was a terrible liar. 

“Hey, you’re the one who climbed over me,” San said. “If you’re going to be like that, I could just…” San let go of his hand and abruptly sat up on his elbows. The sudden movement unbalanced Wooyoung and made him fall onto his back with a yelp, and the loss of  _ San _ was so sudden. The air suddenly felt frigid. 

Wooyoung glared at him, and he contemplated whether he was going insane before attempting to push San back down onto the mattress, a hand flat on his chest. 

“Come  _ on. _ ” 

“Only if you say ‘please.’”

Wooyoung stared at him and cursed what little pride he had left wherever San was concerned. Princes couldn’t… he couldn’t  _ beg.. _ “That’s not happening.” He met San’s eyes, and he was  _ gone _ . 

“I’ll get you to say it one day,” San said, and damn him, his smirk was so smug. “When you least expect it.” 

Wooyoung could feel how flushed his face was, how  _ helpless _ he was. “I-I  _ order _ you to-” 

“You can’t do that here,” San cut him off. “ _ Young-ah. _ ” 

Just like that, all the power Wooyoung ever had over San vanished. It scared him. It thrilled him. 

With a huff, he fell back and turned away from San. “Your loss,” he mumbled, and he could feel San’s gaze lingering on him. He curled into himself, trying his best to ignore it. 

He had all week, after all. 

Balor was a paradise. 

He didn’t have to pretend here, and he used that to his  _ full _ advantage. 

Now, he wasn’t ‘Prince Wooyoung.’ He was just Wooyoung. He didn’t have to worry about responsibilities or maintaining reputation. He didn’t have to keep San behind him as they walked. No one looked at him like he was a god. He was a simple, common man. For a week, he could forget everything and just enjoy life the way everyone else could. 

Hell, he could hurl snowballs at San’s face, and the villagers wouldn’t even bat an eye. He could talk to merchants, antagonize San in public, walk around without scratchy noble clothing, yell at the top of his lungs- he could be  _ human _ . 

He felt like he was discovering a whole new world. 

He was happy. 

San knew it, too. There was a certain sparkle in San’s eyes when he looked at him now. Wooyoung thought he was imagining it the first time he saw it, but no, it was there. 

The next night, Wooyoung found himself wrapped in San’s arms, San’s chest flush to his back. He didn’t even have to ask. He just laid down, and San was  _ there _ . Wooyoung was going to die happy, all because this damn serving boy decided to slam into his life. 

Something clearly changed with San, but it was a welcome one. 

Nala’s birthday was wonderful. They all went on a picnic in the woods. Wooyoung offered to give them privacy—he could go entertain himself elsewhere, but Nala wouldn’t have it. It was cold, but they had a fire and each other’s company to keep warm. The hot food helped as well, and Wooyoung could happily mark it as one of the best experiences of his life. 

He grew close to Nala as well. Around dinnertime, San always went out to play with the children, which was perfect for Wooyoung’s cooking lessons. He was getting better, too! He had finally learned the terminology Nala used when referring to certain items, and Wooyoung could confidently say he could cook a solid meal by the end of the week. He didn’t know when he’d ever get the chance to, though. Someday, he hoped. 

But the nights were what he looked forward to now, and when Nala caught them on the floor one time, she only smiled over at them and closed the door. 

Nala was the mother he never had. 

Saying goodbye was probably one of the  _ worst _ experiences of his life, even more so knowing that he’d probably never see her again. 

The horses were all packed, and at this point, they were all stalling the inevitable. 

Nala clasped her hands around his and smiled. “You have great things ahead, Young-ah. I hope you won’t forget me.” 

Wooyoung shook his head. “I want to stay,” he said in a small voice, the longing etched in his face. He looked over at San. “What if we  _ stay _ ?” 

Nala smiled, but there was a serious tone to her voice. “You have a kingdom to look after, Young-ah. I’m afraid that doesn’t involve puttering around my kitchen.” 

Wooyoung’s eyes went comically wide, and he stared at her. 

“Get that look off your face. I’m not an idiot.” She flicked his forehead. “I may be ignorant to a lot of the outside world,” she said. “But I can put two and two together, Prince Wooyoung.” 

With the eloquence of a fully realized prince, he said, “Oh.” 

Nala rolled her eyes with a smile and pulled him into a tight hug. “Take care of Sannie, will you? He tends to get himself in a lot of trouble.” 

“Of course.” 

She pulled away, and with a sad smile, she turned away to look at San. 

Wooyoung backed away and let San say goodbye alone. He went to the horses, silently brushing his fingers against Carla’s snout. He understood why San loved this place. It was only a week, yet Wooyoung felt more at home here than he ever did at the castle. He genuinely didn’t want to go back. He wanted to stay here and live with San and Nala. He wanted the children to fall over him like they did with San. He wanted to greet the merchants every day, to learn their names and build friendships. 

He wanted to build a life here. 

San stepped up next to him while he was lost in his thoughts, and his sudden presence startled him. Wooyoung jolted back slightly and turned to look at him. 

San’s ears were bright red, too red to blame the cold for it. Slightly taken aback, Wooyoung spoke. 

“What did she say to you?” 

San shook his head. “Nothing. It was nothing,” he said, but if anything, the flush spread to his cheeks. Wooyoung rarely saw San this flustered, so he took in every detail and committed it to memory- his last memory of this magical place. 

He smiled. “Are you sure about that?” 

San stared at him. “You, ah, you didn’t hear any of it, right?” 

“No?” 

San looked down with a small smile. “Good.” 

They mounted their horses, and with one last wave, Wooyoung’s time in Balor came to an end. 

The journey back was dreadful. 

They both would be lying if they said they didn't stretch it out. It took two nights to get back instead of one, and the breaks were far more frequent than they needed to be. A lot of it was spent in silence, mulling over a fabricated excuse for their absence, and the rest was spent reminiscing about their week. 

On the second night, San laid their bedrolls side by side instead of across the fire. Wooyoung’s head was on his chest again, except San wasn’t pushing him away this time. It hit him that they wouldn’t be able to do this in the castle. This was the last time. 

Once again, he longed to be back in Balor. He couldn’t even imagine how  _ San _ felt right now. 

If San ever wanted to leave Sinsu, Wooyoung didn’t know if he could let him. He at least wanted San to know it was an option, though. He didn’t want San to stay against his will. 

Wooyoung shook his head. This conversation was overdue, these thoughts brewing in his head for the longest time. 

“Do you really think my father would kill you if you quit?” His words spilt out into the open air, spiraling. 

San was quiet for a moment. The sudden question probably surprised him, and Wooyoung clutched at his shirt, waiting for his reply. “Do you really want my answer to that?” 

“Yes.” 

San sighed, and he rubbed circles into Wooyoung’s back. “After a month of seeing that execution block every day, I think your father would kill someone for looking at him funny.” 

Wooyoung winced. 

He could understand that. He  _ did _ understand that, and if he was being honest with himself, he would probably  _ agree. _

“At least the servants are a little more safe,” Wooyoung whispered. Over the past month, he had worked with a few of the more agreeable lords, and they settled into a backdoor law, one not upheld by the court, but known by those that mattered. It was difficult, and the progress was painstakingly slow, but it was all he could do. 

San made a soft noise of contentment. “That’s why I believe you’ll be a great King, Wooyoung,” he said. “You’re good.” 

“I’m his  _ son _ .” 

“So? That may be true, but you are your own person, Woo. You can make your own decisions” 

They settled back into silence. San’s words rung in his head, and he took a second to think them over, to  _ really _ ingest them. 

Because it was exactly what he needed to hear. 

“I wouldn’t let him, you know,” Wooyoung said. “If you wanted to leave… you could.” 

“Yeah, I know.” 

Wooyoung buried his face into San’s neck, and he committed this to memory too. 

Eventually, on the third day, they could see the castle looming in the distance.

“I guess this is it,” Wooyoung said. 

“Break’s over. Back to cleaning floors,” San answered. 

“You never cleaned them in the first place.” 

San laughed. “Let’s get this over with.” 

They made the last of the trek in silence, and the front gates were suddenly right  _ there _ . They were really, truly back. 

He thought it would be a smooth return- nice and inconspicuous. That is, until a guard stepped in front of their horses. 

“The King wishes to speak with you, sire. My orders are to bring you to him upon your arrival,” he called out. 

And just like that, it was over. Wooyoung’s back straightened, his eyes narrowed, and San drifted behind him. Much like winter, the weight that settled on his shoulders was merciless. 

Princes were supposed to be cold. They were supposed to be beautiful, like snowflakes trapped in the wind. 

All good things must come to an end, and after having a taste of the perfect life, the guard’s words brought him back to reality. The past week already felt like a lifetime ago. 

He clenched at the reins of his horse, a feeling of nervous anticipation growing in his stomach, and he knew that whatever was in store for him was not going to be pretty. It would be okay, though. As long as San was there for the aftermath, everything was going to be okay. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEW. After five (six?) chapters and 30k+ words, the plot is FINALLY about to set in. I swear this story isn’t just drabbles of their relationship. We have interesting developments to get into hehehe. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think of this part!! Kudos and comments are always appreciated.
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/lynnt1ny) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/lynnt1ny)


	7. The Hunter's Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King turned his head to the side, glancing at Wooyoung from the corner of his eye as he spoke. “When you sit up here, you’ll learn even your closest friends, your family, will betray you,” he said. “I won’t kill him, but one day, you’ll have to yourself. Maybe then you’ll learn your lesson.”

Wooyoung got off his horse, the curious stares of onlookers watching his every move. Behind him, he heard San do the same. 

“Is this urgent business?” Wooyoung asked the guard, trying his best to keep his breathing level. Nice and even. Shoulders back. 

“I’m only following orders, sire.” 

“Yes, of course.” 

With a slight waver in his step, he turned to look at San. Wooyoung handed him the reins of his horse, and meeting his eyes, he saw his own resolve mirrored back at him. With a small nod, Wooyoung turned back and let the guard lead him away. He refused to look back, but he felt San’s eyes settle on his back in silent support. 

Now that he was  _ in _ the castle, walking its familiar corridors, he wished now, more than ever, that he was back in Balor. The castle was beautiful, but now it felt cold and uninviting. Maybe the trip was for the worst: All it did was make Wooyoung long for an illusion. 

Away from the general public, Wooyoung noticed the halls were lined with more guards, their backs stiff. They watched his every step, his every move with narrowed eyes. He could be imagining things—a side effect of spending too much time away, but something was definitely different. It did not help his growing sense of dread. 

The guard stopped by the doors of the throne room; it was easily the most grand, intricately made entry to any room of the castle, wooden carved dragons lined with gold embedded into its sides. Standing here, Wooyoung felt how  _ tired _ he was. Worn from the journey back, his back hunched slightly, and his hair was still dipped in frost. He was in no shape to meet his father, the  _ King _ , in his disheveled state. 

Wooyoung closed his eyes and sighed, but they snapped open as the guards pushed the doors in, announcing his presence to his father. 

He wasn’t ready for this talk. He didn’t even know what to  _ expect _ . 

The doors opened, and there Beomseok was, sitting high on his throne. He was leaning on an elbow, his head propped up to the side. He stared down at Wooyoung. 

“Father.” Wooyoung stepped forward and knelt. He gnawed on his bottom lip, armor still crusted with snow and dirt. His footsteps left a trail of grime on the floor- more work for the servants to clean up. 

In these halls, he looked like a wreck. 

“Leave us.” Beomseok flicked a hand from his throne, and the guards slowly filed out. From his place on the floor, Wooyoung could see the looks of pity and curiosity thrown at him, only growing the pit in his stomach. “Wooyoung.” 

Wooyoung lifted his head, and for a second, all he could see was white light streaming through the windows, and then the crown, resting dutifully on his father’s head. 

It would be on  _ his  _ one day. 

Beomseok watched him with an air of contempt. A stack of slick stairs spilt from underneath the throne, raising him above Wooyoung. His eyes were narrow crescents, so different from the ones Wooyoung had grown used to. A silence fell over them; it wasn’t one Wooyoung was willing to break himself. 

Thankfully, it didn’t last long. 

“I didn’t think much of it when you left,” Beomseok said. “But after days of no word, one begins to wonder.” 

With his free hand, Beomseok tapped his nails against the armrest of the throne, scratching lightly at the carved gold. It set Wooyoung on edge, and his father knew it, if the slight hint of his smirk meant anything. 

This definitely wasn’t the first tense conversation they’ve had, but something felt different in the air—there was something…  _ off _ . 

Wooyoung took a deep breath and stood to his feet. “We received a few concerning reports from the borders of Sinsu. I thought I’d take a look myself.” 

Wooyoung’s answer didn’t seem to phase him. The King continued to look down at him with squinted eyes, and the tapping never stopped. Wooyoung bit his lip and tried to stay composed. 

“I raised you to be a king, not a liar,” his father said. “Maybe that’s why you’re so  _ bad _ at it.” 

Wooyoung closed his eyes. 

“Now, tell me where you’ve been.” 

“I…” Wooyoung didn’t have a good excuse. He couldn’t  _ think _ . He scrambled for something to say,  _ anything. _ But his mind remained blank under his father’s watchful eye. 

Why couldn’t he  _ think?  _

“Perhaps I’ll question your servant, then, until my son decides to speak.” 

_ No. _

Wooyoung dropped his gaze and stared at the foot of the throne, eyes wide. His head was suddenly filled with soft hands in his hair and snide comments giggled into his ear. 

_ Stop. Stay calm. You need to stay calm. _

“There’s no need to involve him,” he said, each syllable carefully placed on his tongue. His father could be unpredictable in one of his moods. 

He needed to keep San safe. 

“It seems it already involves him, as his absence matches yours.” Beomseok leaned forward, catching Wooyoung’s eye again. “Hongjoong told me he took a trip to his home village, but you would know all about that, wouldn’t you?” 

He sucked in a breath. There had to be something, an excuse to keep San far away from his father. They were entering deadly territory now, and Wooyoung didn’t want to know what would happen if they went further down this path.

“It’s a coincidence, father. Honestly, I thought it’d be nice to check on our outer villages,” he said. “It’s been a while since I’ve been out of the castle.”

His father glared down at him, and Wooyoung fought the urge to  _ run. _

“I saw you ride in with him,” he snarled. “You’re going  _ soft _ . At this rate, you’ll never be fit to rule.” He stood abruptly. “You don’t think I see how attached you are to him? How ignorant do you think I am? I know everything that happens in this castle, Jung Wooyoung.” 

Wooyoung couldn’t breathe. 

He stared at the steps, unable to look at the King anymore. How could he? He.. 

He  _ knew _ … 

His lips parted to say something, but he froze. 

He saw where this was going. 

“Don’t kill him,” he whispered. 

Beomseok turned his back on him and gazed out the windows, hands crossed behind him. The throne sat empty next to him, accusingly. Wooyoung watched with bated breath, waiting for his response. He was ready to bolt out of there and whisk San away from this place, and if it meant Wooyoung would never see him again, so be it- as long as he was  _ away. _

The King turned his head to the side, glancing at Wooyoung from the corner of his eye as he spoke. “When you sit up here, you’ll learn even your closest friends, your family, will betray you,” he said. “I won’t kill him, but one day, you’ll have to yourself. Maybe then you’ll learn your lesson.” 

Wooyoung shook his head slightly, but the relief flooded him. 

They’d have to be more careful, but for now, San was safe. 

Beomseok set a hand on the side on the throne and walked behind it, tilting his head down at Wooyoung. 

“Come,” he said. “Sit.” 

Wooyoung froze. 

“Father?” 

The King smiled. It didn’t feel comforting. “Come here and sit, Wooyoung.” 

With shaking legs, Wooyoung took a step forward. His father stood tall behind the throne, hands placed along its sides. Each step took him closer to the inevitable. Each step felt like an anchor dragging him down. As he walked up the stairs, he felt himself sink. 

His body tense, he avoided his father’s eye and sunk into the chair. The throne room lay bare in front of him, and while he was only a few feet higher than the main floor, the new perspective hit him with a wave of vertigo. 

“Before you know it, you’ll be here permanently,” Beomseok said. His voice boomed behind him, and Wooyoung shut his eyes. “Do you think you’re ready for that?” 

Wooyoung shook his head and spoke with a whisper. “No.” 

“That’s right. You are not,” Beomseok said. “There is another matter we must discuss.” 

Wooyoung wanted to run. He wanted to be in Nala’s kitchen, listening to her hum under her breath as she cooked. He wanted to lie in the snow with San laughing beside him. He wanted it more than the breath in his lungs. What would the kingdom look like when he ruled? How would it fare while its King yearned for another life? 

Beomseok set a hand on his shoulder, and while Wooyoung couldn’t feel it through his armor, the signet ring glinted up at him, engraved with the family crest and taunting him. 

“There is a delegation arriving from Essetir in a week. Their daughter, Sena, will come as well. She’s cunning. She’s willing to make tough decisions. She fills in the qualities you lack,” Beomseok said. “In addition, an alliance with King Sungho would be extremely beneficial for us. ” 

Wooyoung shook his head. “You want me to marry her.” 

Beomseok hummed, and Wooyoung could practically  _ feel _ the glare on the back of his head. “Princess Sena is especially proficient in  _ magic _ ,” his father said. “At the very least, I need you to oversee her while she’s here, and if needed, yes, you will marry her.”

What? 

Wooyoung turned in his seat and stared up at him. “She has… magic?” 

“If you weren’t so busy  _ ‘checking our borders _ ,’ you’d know the Essetirians have magic,” Beomseok said. “And for some, strange reason, everyone thinks  _ you _ did it.” 

_ Magic. Magic is really returning.  _

He didn’t  _ do  _ anything, though. He didn’t cast any spells or complete any rituals. All his life, ever since he heard the first whisper of his prophecy, he agonized on how it would happen, how it  _ could  _ happen. 

And somehow, he weaponized one of their oldest threats.  _ Essetir. _

His father’s strange behavior suddenly made sense to him—the passive aggression, the extra guards in the halls. 

He was paranoid, and it was Wooyoung’s fault. 

“Father, I swear, I didn’t do anything. I wasn’t in Essetir. You were right. I was with Sa-, I was with my servant. You must know I wouldn’t turn against Sinsu.” 

But Beomseok only smiled, taking in Wooyoung’s panic with a calculated gaze. “I just want you to know that you brought this marriage on yourself, Wooyoung,” he said. “Now, get out of my chair.” 

Wooyoung stared at him. So… Beomseok  _ didn’t _ think Wooyoung betrayed Sinsu, or did he? Wooyoung could never read his father’s face, but the hard set of Beomseok’s eyes now scared him. He staggered to his feet and turned away. He felt like his whole life had been flipped from this one conversation, stumbling down the steps and returning to familiar territory. 

“And Wooyoung, for god’s sake,” Beomseok called. “Get your servant to clean yourself up. You’re a mess.” 

.

Wooyoung ignored the stares that followed him in the hallways and went straight to his chambers. There was another time to address his public image. Right now, he needed to change and pass out for a few hours. He needed to think over his father’s words. 

He was going to marry. He couldn’t weasel himself out of this one, not under Beomseok’s direct orders. He’d have to… He’d have to find a way to make the other party say no, but it was a delicate line to step over without starting a war. 

Sinsu and Essetir had always been at each other’s neck, and now that the Essetirians had  _ magic, _ who knew what kind of things they would pull. Inviting them into their kingdom felt like a stupid move, but Beomseok obviously wanted this alliance, and he was willing to sacrifice his only son for it. 

How the hell did they get magic? 

Stepping into his chambers was a breath of fresh air. Everything was spotless—clean and tidy—and probably Seonghwa’s work. The only downside to having San as a servant was him refusing to do his job (and the extra bag of protectiveness, but Wooyoung didn’t know if that really counted as a downside). 

A bath had been drawn further in the room, and the water was warm- hot, almost. San must have been here recently. For a second, Wooyoung wished he was still in the room, but  _ god _ that bath looked nice right now. 

Wooyoung struggled a bit to take off his armor, the pieces clattering onto the floor for San to pick up later. Wooyoung could already feel himself relax without the extra weight holding him down. 

Fully undressed, he stepped into the water and laid back, forcing himself to loosen up. He had hoped for a clean getaway—a nice, clandestine return. He wasn’t prepared for all of this news. He wasn’t prepared for… that entire conversation. He needed to take a step away and ease himself back to his usual duties. 

And most of all, he needed to figure out how Essetir has magic and Sinsu does not. 

Frankly, he was surprised his father wasn’t  _ livid _ . His calm composure was almost more foreboding than his anger. The logical conclusion from these turn of events was that Wooyoung was a traitor, no matter how untrue that may be. Not for the first time, Wooyoung wished he could sneak into his father’s head and know exactly what he was thinking. 

He sighed and dipped his head under the water, basking in the warmth.  _ This _ was what he needed after the journey back. He didn’t realize just how much his muscles ached until finally getting time to rest, but while the peace and quiet was nice, he wished these negative thoughts would stop swirling around his head. 

There was a bar of soap set to the side of the bath, and Wooyoung set to work, rubbing the dirt off his body in frustration. Normally, this would be servant’s work, but Wooyoung had never let San do it. It felt too… intimate. With the other servants, it was fine, but San was different. In the beginning, Wooyoung dismissed him out of embarrassment. Now, he was afraid of how much he wanted San next to him. 

He couldn’t think about San, though. He needed to find a solution to these new problems. How could he get the Essetirians to back out of this marriage? His father said he was to marry Princess Sena, but how could he get out of it without causing insult? 

It was all too much. 

Wooyoung buried his head into his hands. He didn’t know what to  _ do _ . San had told him to marry for love. Could he learn to love Princess Sena? He didn’t think that’s how it worked. Maybe he could, but he doubted it. From the way his father described her, she seemed cold and calculating, exactly the person Beomseok wanted him to be. 

He couldn’t tell if he was overthinking it or not, but he was seconds away from falling asleep right in the tub. 

That would be embarrassing. 

He finished cleaning himself and stepped out. His skin prickled in the cooler air, and he quickly wiped himself down and put on a pair of trousers, all but collapsing onto the bed. 

Now, he would wait for San. 

It was late in the day. To be honest, he should probably go out and do  _ something _ . A talk with Yeosang would be nice. A legion of advisors and court members were probably dying to get their hands on him after his break. A visit to the knights was inevitable as well. 

Still, he stretched lazily against the sheets, his wet, matted hair a reminder of his current lack of propriety. It would all have to wait for another time. 

He wanted to talk to San. He turned his head towards the door and sighed, trying to telepathically call San to his side. It never worked, but the attempt was there. Unfortunately, Wooyoung didn’t think he was in a state where he could go out and yell for his servant. 

Maybe San will hear the news and come up to Wooyoung himself. Wooyoung didn’t know if he wanted that. Sure, it would save a lot of ranting, but for some reason, he didn’t really…  _ want _ San to know he was getting married. It felt  _ weird. _

Was it even common knowledge? Did the general public know the Essetirians were coming? Wooyoung  _ really _ should go out and get more information on this instead of moping. 

He stretched out again and stared at the ceiling. Once or twice, he heard the scuff of footsteps outside his door, but he never recognized them as San’s. He figured,  _ of course, _ his father put guards right by his door. Normally they’d be down the hall, giving him more privacy than the thin walls allowed. Now, it seemed, even that had been taken from him. 

He was trapped in this situation, both mentally  _ and _ physically. 

Eventually, his ears perked to a new sound outside the door—a muffled voice he knew entirely too well. He closed his eyes and sighed in relief as the door finally opened, no knock preceding it. 

_ San. _

The door shut, and Wooyoung heard San scoff at it. The guards must have stopped him before allowing him inside. 

San didn’t announce his presence, but he didn’t need to. He never did. Wooyoung heard him working around the room in a comfortable silence. It was obvious San was completely oblivious to this new situation, and that made Wooyoung’s job of telling him so much more difficult. 

“Thanks for the bath,” Wooyoung mumbled. San’s head shot up towards the bed. 

“Oh? A ‘thanks?’ That’s new.” 

Wooyoung didn’t answer. 

“Wait… you’re getting your sheets wet,” San huffed. He shook his head in exasperation and grabbed a spare scrap of linen from the side of the room, his footsteps heavy. Wooyoung could hear him grumbling under his breath. The familiar sound made him warm. 

San stood at the side of the bed, grimacing at the damp covers, and Wooyoung wanted to just…. grab his hand and pull him in. 

Wooyoung stretched out an arm and fumbled for a grasp on San, for a hand, his shirt,  _ anything, _ but San stepped out of his reach. 

“Woo, get  _ up. _ ” 

“Why?” 

San chuckled. “You always have to make my job harder than it already is.”

Wooyoung pouted up at him, but San wasn’t having it. He stepped closer with a knee on the bed and grabbed Wooyoung’s shoulders, manhandling him into an upright position. 

Wooyoung’s back did not appreciate the cool air, and he shivered. 

San crawled behind him and dropped the cloth over this wet hair, his hands rough against Wooyoung’s head. Wooyoung closed his eyes as San attempted to dry his hair. 

“You’re due for a haircut,” San said from behind him. 

“I like it long.” 

“It’s impractical.” 

Wooyoung didn’t have the energy to argue, so he stayed quiet. San kept rubbing the makeshift towel through his hair, his head loose under San’s rough treatment. 

After a while, San seemed to give up, as the linen did little to soak up the water. He tossed it to the floor and placed a damp hand on Wooyoung’s shoulder. “You’re awfully quiet, and there are guards outside the door. What’s going on?” 

Wooyoung glanced back at him. He didn’t know how to explain everything, how to tell San what was going on inside his head. His lips were sealed shut, and he watched as San’s expression grew more worried by the second. 

The hand on his shoulder tightened, and San forced him to shift and turn around. They were both sitting on the bed now, facing each other. It reminded Wooyoung of when he and Yeosang used to talk like this when they were kids. 

“Did… did the King find out where you went?” San asked. His hands fiddled with the sheets between them, and Wooyoung couldn’t help but focus on that slight movement. 

Wooyoung gulped past the words threatening to spill out. “He already knew,” he said. “At least, I think he did.”  _ Either that, or he thinks I betrayed the kingdom. _

“Is that why the guards are here?” 

The truth was, Wooyoung didn’t  _ know _ exactly why the guards were there now. He assumed it was to keep him from leaving, to keep him from running away from this marriage, this  _ life _ again. 

“Maybe,” he mumbled. 

San reached out and touched the back of Wooyoung’s hand. “Hey, are you okay? You know you can tell me anything, right?” There was a crease between his brows. Wooyoung could tell that San  _ knew _ he was hiding something. It was written all over his face. 

He opened his mouth to answer, but nothing would come out. If he said it, it would be  _ real _ . He knew marriage wasn’t a horrible thing. It was supposed to be a good thing- good for him and the kingdom, but why did the prospect feel so.. so  _ devastating?  _

He needed to tell San eventually, but he didn’t want to see the look on his face, the disappointment. San told him to marry for love, and Wooyoung couldn’t even do  _ that _ right. 

With a sniff, he reached out to San and hooked a leg behind his back, pulling himself onto San’s lap. He could feel San freeze, but goddamnit he needed a hug right now, and he wasn’t going to let San pull away. 

“Ack, you’re still wet,” San said, but he let Wooyoung wrap his arms around him. “Seriously, what’s going on with you?”

Wooyoung hooked his chin over San’s shoulder, his hands splayed against his back. San made him feel so comfortable. There wasn’t anyone else he’d be able to do this with, not even Yeosang. He wondered how Princess Sena would fit into the picture. What would she think of his friendship with San? He wished he knew more about her. Maybe then he’d be able to answer these questions. 

San pat the back of his head, and a shiver wracked through his body. For a second, he remembered the guards were only a number of feet away. They could come in any second and see them like this. They’ll see how pitiful their prince was behind closed doors. 

San deserved an answer, and he was waiting. He might as well go ahead and say it. 

Wooyoung turned his head to San’s ear and spoke in a soft whisper. “I’m getting married.” 

He felt San stop breathing, and he held on tighter, hiding his face in the crook of San’s neck, inhaling the soft scent that took him back to Balor. 

“When?” 

“An Essetirian delegation is arriving sometime next week with King Sungho and Princess Sena,” he choked out, words muffled. “We are already hostile kingdoms. Refusing would risk war.” 

San was quiet. It was strange. He usually had tons of advice or comforting words for these situations, but now, he was silent. Wooyoung pulled back and stared at him. 

San stared back, his lips slightly parted. 

Wooyoung shouldn’t have told him. Looking at San’s face made his stomach turn over. San’s eyes were saucers, his brows tilted up. He looked hurt. 

Wooyoung subconsciously brought a hand to the side of his face, fingers brushing lightly through San’s hair. His silence was unnerving, and Wooyoung needed him to  _ say something _ . 

“You look more shocked than  _ I _ was,” Wooyoung said. 

San closed his mouth. “I guess I am,” he mumbled. “You… I mean, what’s she like?” 

Wooyoung wished he could answer. He shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said.

San dropped his gaze and pulled Wooyoung closer. His arms were a vice grip, and that familiar sinking feeling was back. Every time San held him like this, it was there, dragging him down. 

“It’s okay. You’ll get through this,” San said. “I’m sure she’s nice. Who knows? Maybe she’s the love of your life.” 

Wooyoung was doubtful, but he indulged him. “I mean, maybe…” 

“That’s the spirit.” 

After a moment, Wooyoung realized how  _ tense _ San was. He pulled away, and San’s arms fell to his sides, his eyes slightly glazed over. 

“San?” 

He blinked slowly and refocused on Wooyoung with a terse smile. “Yeah?” 

San’s hair fell lightly against his face, kissing the top of his cheekbones and slightly askew. Small dimples winked at him, and his eyes shone in the fading light. Wooyoung hadn’t realized how dark it was getting. 

He lost the words he meant to say, instead taking in the man in front of him as if for the first time—the sharp line of his jaw, his cupid’s bow, the way he lit up every space he occupied. It was like looking at a star. 

“Ah, um,” Wooyoung struggled to speak, to  _ think _ . “You’re… you’re pretty.” 

San stared at him, but instead of the bright smile Wooyoung expected to get, his dimples disappeared and his face dropped. 

“You are too,” San whispered. He brought a hand to Wooyoung’s chest and gently pushed him off his lap. “I brought your dinner. It’s on the table.” 

“Oh.” Wooyoung circled a hand around San’s wrist. “You’re leaving?” 

San gave him a confused look. “Yes? I am.” 

Over the past week, Wooyoung had gotten used to having San with him in the evenings. He was used to warm, home-cooked meals full of laughter and nights of deep sleep with San next to him in bed. 

“You could.. I mean,” Wooyoung paused. “You could stay for the night.. If you wanted.” 

But San was already shaking his head. “I think you and I both know that’s a bad idea,” he said. He gently pulled away from Wooyoung’s loose grip and climbed off the bed. “Good night, sire.” 

_ Sire? _ Wooyoung’s brain short-circuited. 

“Don’t call me that,” he cut in. “It’s just Wooyoung.” San gave him a small smile, and Wooyoung fought to keep his own in check. “Nothing between us has to change, you know, now that we’re back.” He looked away, eyes wandering around the room, avoiding where San stood. “‘Young-ah’ is okay too,” he mumbled. 

San was silent, and after a moment, Wooyoung looked at him again. There was a slight crease between his eyebrows, a purse to his lips. He looked.. He almost looked  _ pained _ . 

“Good night,” San whispered before turning his back.

Wooyoung stared. 

The food grew cold on the table. 

(。-`ω´-)

Working for Wooyoung was great. It was wonderful. San could get little perks, like extra pastries from the kitchens, or free clothing from the tailor. He could steal off of Wooyoung’s breakfast plates. He could go practically wherever he wanted in the castle. The actual work was minimal, and the pay was handsome. 

It was great… until San realized he was in love. 

And not only was it with the  _ Prince, _ but he was going to be engaged soon too. 

Honestly, fuck his life. 

San blamed their trip to Balor for this. He blamed his  _ mum _ . He would never forget the smug, knowing smile on her face before they left. 

_ “He’s a good catch, Sannie. When are you going to man up and kiss him?”  _

Wooyoung had looked so happy and carefree in Balor, and before he knew it, all San could think about was stuffing flowers in his hair and, yes,  _ kissing _ him. God, he wished they had never gone. At least then, San would still be walking around in delirious denial. 

He was actually going crazy. 

And he needed to  _ stop _ . He needed to detach himself from Wooyoung because the only way this would end was with his heart trampled on the floor. 

Wooyoung was making it hard. He was making it  _ so fucking hard _ to distance himself. Was it even possible to fall out of love with someone? Once you catch feelings, do they ever actually go away? 

On the bright side, it didn’t seem like Wooyoung caught on yet, and San was proud of his ability to hide it so far. 

With the additional guards behind Wooyoung’s door, they fell back into their old routine rather quickly. Seeing Wooyoung became both the most dreaded and best part of San’s day. They didn’t hug since the day they returned, but that was for the best. Wooyoung would have someone else to do that for him soon. 

The castle was doing fine, but so much had changed since they left. The news of the upcoming alliance spread like wildfire, and now everyone was running around preparing for a feast upon the Essetirian’s arrival. 

San had never been to a formal feast before. Hongjoong told him it was nothing special. He said the important nobles wore flashy clothes and gave speeches. An abundance of food was prepared, and the servants flitted around refilling wine goblets. But while feasts were nothing special, they were incredibly important for foreign relations. 

As the days passed, San felt his time ticking down. His words grew more choked up. It was getting harder to tend to Wooyoung without flinching at every touch of bare skin. He felt like an idiot, his cheeks glowing red at the mere mention of his name. 

It was ridiculous. 

_ Any _ change in the routine was welcome, so when Wooyoung gathered a few of his best knights to go on a hunting trip, San was thrilled. 

Good meat was hard to find in winter, and Wooyoung hoped the trip would help with feast preparations. The logic was good enough to get approval from Beomseok, and off they went. 

The horses were easy to prep with the help of the stableboys, and soon they were riding towards the forests on horseback. 

Jongho, Mingi, and Yunho trailed behind them. San was familiar with all three. On the days Wooyoung insisted on training the knights, San had struck up fun conversations with them, poking fun at Wooyoung’s antics. They were all close in age, so it was only normal they’d gravitate to each other, and none of them cared about ranks or royalty. San learned to brush it off when the older knights threw critical glances at them.They hadn’t had many training sessions these days because of the weather, so San was glad he could use this hunting trip to talk to them. 

They planned to stop and set up in a nearby clearing to secure their horses and move forward on foot. Wooyoung knew the forest well, and he had the route completely planned out for them. They were all hopeful for a good hunt, and they expected one too. The day felt warmer than usual, and the sun shone above them. While it brightened everyone’s spirits, San felt an unusual tension in the air. No one else acknowledged it, though, so it was probably just him. 

He tuned in and out of the knights’ conversation as they traveled. Apparently, when they were younger, Wooyoung used to sneak into the physician’s chambers and steal herbs off the shelves. Hongjoong was the apprentice then, and it fell to him to chase Wooyoung out and get them back. The small story made San smile. He could imagine them running through the castle, brightly colored herbs clutched in Wooyoung’s hand and the sound of small footsteps pattering against the walls. 

“You really like flowers, don’t you?” San said. 

To his side, Wooyoung scoffed. “Ignore them.” 

San laughed. “I’ll be sure to give you some before the feast.”  _ Before you meet your future wife.  _

“Get the blue ones.” 

San gave a noncommittal hum. 

They broke into the clearing and slowed to a stop. San dismounted and patted the horse’s muzzle, glancing over his shoulder. The three knights stood behind him, goofy grins on their faces. They all wore chainmail and had swords looped through their belts. Yunho wore a quiver full of arrows, a bow in his hand, and the two others had small crossbows. 

Wooyoung was in full armor. San didn’t know what use it had for hunting, but he didn’t question it. Wooyoung looked good in armor. 

“We’re resting here for a moment,” Wooyoung said. He reached up and ruffled San’s hair. “We can’t have San getting tired.” He grinned, and San bat his hand away. Somewhere in the trees, a twig snapped. San gulped. 

The knights went straight to a fallen tree to the side of the clearing, taking the horses before sitting and laughing. San  _ would _ join them, but...

That uneasy feeling from before never left him. If anything, it doubled. He felt like they were being watched, like he’d turn around and see someone staring back at him. He edged closer to Wooyoung, glancing around nervously. He had no idea where this feeling was coming from, but warning bells were ringing in his ears. He wanted to  _ run _ . 

“Wooyoung.” His whole body tensed up, eyes flitting back and forth among the trees. The shadows flickered. It  _ had _ to be his overactive imagination, right? “Woo, there’s something wrong,” he hissed. 

Wooyoung turned his head to the side, taking in the panic that lay evident in San’s eyes, the stricken expression on his face. He looked at San, and he had a soft smile on his lips. 

“Calm down, San. Everything’s okay,” he patted San’s shoulder. 

Under any other circumstances, San would be  _ overjoyed _ to have Wooyoung looking at him like this, but he wasn’t  _ listening.  _

“Wooyoung, I’m serious.” He glanced to the side at the knights. They all had relaxed smiles and didn’t seem to notice anything strange.

“There’s no need to be so uptight, San. We’re fine,” Wooyoung said. “Lighten up a little.” He reached up to brush San’s hair out of his eyes, but it did nothing to help. “I don’t like seeing you upset.” 

There was still something wrong. 

“Jung Wooyoung, you listen to me  _ right now _ .” 

“San, you’re really-” 

“Sire.” San looked him dead in the eye. He hoped the drop of his title would get him to  _ listen _ . He hoped Wooyoung would stop acting like he was overreacting, or being dramatic, or- 

“Stop looking at me like that,” Wooyoung said. “Believe me, we are  _ completely safe. _ Do you really think I’d let you get hurt?” He touched the back of San’s hand, and he  _ burned _ . 

It was silent. 

There were no noises around them- no birds. No snapping of twigs, only the laughter of the knights beyond them and the itch at the back of San’s neck. 

“Wooyoung,  _ please _ . Can we turn back?” 

The Prince nodded. “We will once we catch something, okay? I don’t want to go back empty…” 

Wooyoung was still talking, but San wasn’t listening anymore. He stared over Wooyoung’s shoulder into the trees, locking eyes with a dark figure. It sat and watched them, hunched over and blending with the shadows. San felt a chill run through him.

“ _ Wooyoung. _ ”

The figure shifted, and a new streak of light cast down on it. San found himself staring down the barrel of a crossbow, quarrel nocked and ready, its tip glinting menacingly. 

The world slowed. Its edges blurred. If he moved Wooyoung, they could just re-aim and shoot. Something needed to block him, to cover him. He needed to… 

San grabbed Wooyoung’s shoulders and  _ pulled _ , spinning them around and swapping their positions. The world tilted for a split second. 

The quarrel slammed into him hard, and he fell forward onto Wooyoung’s chest. His hands automatically latched themselves onto Wooyoung’s upper arms, fingers desperately grasping at the armor. 

Wooyoung wasn’t breathing, wasn’t moving, and when San glanced up at him, he saw his mouth agape, eyes staring wide at San’s back.

The pain stabbed him then, bursting from his right shoulder blade, and he cried out, knocking his forehead against Wooyoung’s chestplate, eyes shut tight. Faintly, he could hear Wooyoung yelling something, but it all faded to a sharp throb. 

They both dropped to the floor. 

He was on his knees now, his weight completely supported by Wooyoung, but he couldn’t focus on that now. 

It hurt. 

A cry ripped from his throat. San pulled a hand back and pressed below his right collarbone, feeling a sharp point. His fingers came away red. It took him a moment to realize the quarrel had torn straight through him. Each gasp of breath sent a torrent of pain through him, and he looked up in shock. 

Wooyoung was still yelling, unintelligible to San’s ear. Hands pressed onto his back, and San all but screamed and flinched forward. His shoulders hunched up, but all that did was make it  _ worse _ , the wound tearing even more. He felt his body spasm, unconsciously trying to rid itself of the foreign object. He felt every shift, every movement  _ inside _ him, and  _ god _ it hurt. 

“W-Woo _ young-ah _ , _ help me,”  _ he whimpered. He scrambled for purchase against the body in front of him, but only sharp metal met him. San felt leather gloves grasp desperately at him, loud, anguished words not quite meeting his ears. San wished he could properly hold someone. Perhaps that could ease the pain, even just a little bit, if the armor plates were gone and Wooyoung could hold him like he used to back home. 

The world exploded.

His head spun as a war cry rang out in the clearing, followed by a series of shouts and clashes of metal. It came to him in waves, his focus crashing in and out like the tides of an ocean. 

He could feel Wooyoung’s panic, his own mixing in and melding together. “I-I said I wouldn’t let you get  _ hurt _ ,” he heard Wooyoung cry. His voice wavered as he heaved, gasping through heavy breaths. “And then you… you..” He let out a broken whine, and all San could do was grab onto one of his hands.

From the corner of San’s eye, he saw misshapen figures closing in on them, flashes of steel cutting through their blurred edges. “You need… you need to take care of  _ them _ ,” he groaned. Wooyoung wrenched up, staring at the approaching attackers. His fingers tightened against San’s clothes, his hand. San’s eyes latched on to Wooyoung’s face, on the faint quiver of his lip and the glisten in his gaze. “Go.” 

With a slight shake of his head, he gently laid San onto the floor on his side. “Okay,  _ okay _ . Yeah.” Leather-clad fingers brushed against his cheek. 

San watched him go in a daze, Wooyoung standing tall, sword in hand. He curled into himself on the floor, groaning at the loss of what little comfort he had left, helpless as dark figures surrounded his prince.

Even as red filled his vision, all he could see was Wooyoung, his senses dulled to a thrum as the chaos unfurled around him. Wooyoung moved savagely, animalistic almost. The force of his swings sent his body careening in a brutal rhythm that matched the beat of San’s heart. His hair flew around his head in a black flurry, and San wished he could see Wooyoung’s face. He wished he could tell him everything was alright. 

He grit his teeth and grasped at the ground beneath him as another bout of pain shot through him, his frozen fingers digging past the snow and into the dirt. 

Wooyoung hacked at their attackers, a few bodies dropping at his feet, and a tear escaped the corner of San’s eye, mapping a path across his face and freezing into his hair. 

There were too many of them. Three heavily clad figures surrounded Wooyoung, and San reached out with a groan. He felt helpless- a worthless little servant stuck on the ground. Wooyoung fell to a knee, and San panicked. He needed to  _ do _ something. 

Where were the other knights? 

Wooyoung rose again but was quickly beaten back down to a knee. Someone wrenched the sword from his hand, and disarmed, Wooyoung whipped his head to look over at where San’s body lay in the snow, eyes wide. 

_ Don’t look at me, you idiot!! _

San yelled, a hoarse cry leaving his throat, and in that split second, the attackers flung back, landing hard on their backs in the snow. San felt his body spasm again, and he squeezed his eyes shut, groaning against the pain. When he opened them again, he saw Wooyoung staring at him. The attackers lay motionless. 

In his dazed state, San couldn’t process what happened. He felt himself go completely limp, the cold seeping into his clothes and numbing him slightly to the pain. He welcomed it; although, he knew it was only breaking his body down faster. 

Wooyoung was back by his side, and San didn’t know how he got there, only that there were fingers brushing against his forehead. 

“Yunho, get the horses ready. We need to go back  _ now _ .” Wooyoung called out. 

He cradled San’s face in his hands, brushing lightly at his tears. 

“San, hang in there, okay?” Wooyoung murmured into his ear. “Hongjoong will patch you up back in Sinsu, okay? You’re going to be okay. We aren’t too far away.”

“Feels like ‘m gonna die,” San slurred, each breath a rasp. 

“ _ No _ .” Wooyoung took off a glove and tilted San’s chin, forcing him to look up at him. “You’re going to be fine,” he said, and from the conviction in his eyes, San almost believed him. 

Jongho strode into his line of vision then, and he wasn’t alone.San could see a man in black shoved down to his knees, wrists behind his back. Jongho’s sword was precariously close to his neck. The last survivor. 

“What do you want me to do with him, sire?” Jongho said. 

Wooyoung looked up, and San could see his gaze harden, his hands pressing harder against San’s face.

It all became too much, then, and he let his eyes droop. 

He heard Wooyoung’s voice far away, so cold, his words harsh against San’s ears. 

(。-`ω´-)

Wooyoung was no stranger to death.

He had never been more afraid of it when he saw the bolt in San’s back. He knew a fatal injury when he saw it, and it was a miracle San was still  _ breathing _ . 

Once they were at the city gates, Wooyoung rushed San to Hongjoong’s chambers himself. It must have been a strange sight: the Crown Prince sprinting through the castle corridors, a body held tight in his arms. 

Hongjoong stared at him when Wooyoung burst into the room, but he quickly got to work when he saw San’s state. They laid him down on a cot, and before Wooyoung could say a word, Hongjoong was shooing him out. 

“But—” 

“ _ Leave. _ You’ll only get in my way,” Hongjoong cut him off.

So Wooyoung found himself sitting outside the door, his back to the wall. 

He almost lost San today. 

Fuck, for all he knew, he  _ did _ lose him. Hongjoong worked a magic of his own, but Wooyoung didn’t know if even  _ he _ could save him. 

The impact alone should have killed San. He thought it  _ did  _ kill him, and Wooyoung’s heart stopped. 

_ Fuck. _

Wooyoung hid his face in his hands. This was entirely his fault.  _ He _ wanted to go on this trip.  _ He _ didn’t listen when San said there was something wrong.

He just wanted to take home something big, something that would make his father proud. And now he was paying for it. 

If San didn’t recover from this, Wooyoung didn’t know what he would do. He sat there, the shock numbing his brain. He pulled at his hair, the ghost of San’s fingers running over his scalp. 

For the longest time, Wooyoung never let himself cry. It was unbefitting for a prince. He couldn’t remember the last time he let the tears fall, but he could feel them now, trailing down his cheeks. 

San should be here, pulling him into his arms. San  _ would  _ be here if Wooyoung wasn’t so  _ fucking stupid.  _

There was magic, too. Wooyoung was sure of it. San’s eyes had been golden, just like the stars he resembled. 

San had magic.

No.

To Wooyoung, San  _ was _ magic. 

San was the one who brought magic into his life, into his world. He was sure of it.  _ Wooyoung _ didn’t do it. It was all San. Him and his pretty eyes. His soft words. 

The stories were all about Wooyoung. The stories were wrong. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that, Happy 2021! 
> 
> Ahahaha okayyy. Just as a note- the rest of the story is outlined in Wooyoung’s POV, so it might start to lean Wooyoung-centric.
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are so incredibly appreciated. You guys keep me motivated to write. I honestly don't think I'd be able to get this far without the support this has gotten, so thank you so much!
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/lynnt1ny) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/lynnt1ny)


	8. The Beginning of the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Essetirians had arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The length of this chapter had me crying: tears, sobs, the works. 
> 
> Not really but still. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy~

_ Smoke clogged his lungs. It crawled down his throat and built in his chest.  _

_ Wooyoung stumbled as he made his way through the flames. The sky was a blazing fire. It was everywhere. Tendrils of flame licked at his feet as he tried to get  _ away,  _ pulling at his clothes and dragging him down.  _

_ It didn’t burn, but he could feel the heat. Sweat dripped down his face. It pooled around his temples, and no matter how many times he wiped his brow, it would not go away.  _

_ The sound was the worst. Wooyoung’s ears filled with crackling fire, the roar drowning him. It was a monster, howling across the flat land, an overwhelming threat. It cascaded around him in a never-ending loop. _

_ He wasn’t wearing armor—thank god. He’d be cooked alive in the metal, and, frankly, he didn’t know how he was still alive now. Instead, he wore his usual attire, with expensive materials sticking to his skin as he ran to find a breath of fresh air.  _

_ Something snagged his foot, and he fell hard, palms crashing down in front of him to break the fall. The ground was covered in vines, shriveled and animated. They fed the flames and kept them alive.  _

_ They  _ moved,  _ tangling over Wooyoung’s body and holding him still. Panic climbed up Wooyoung’s throat, mingling with the smoke and fighting against it. His breaths came in sharp gasps, and he fought against the vines keeping him locked in place. He needed to get out of here. He needed  _ air. 

_ How did he get here? How do you get out? It was all the same: smoke swirling in the air, vines snaking across the ground, flames leaping out at him. It was hell.  _

_ He tore himself free and stumbled back to his feet. Was he alone? He lurched forward and yelled into the inferno. Sparks and embers flew past his face, yet to burn his actual skin. Was it magic? He could feel soot and ash sticking to him, his face, his clothes. He let out another yell, but the only response was the rumble of fire around him.  _

_ Where was the castle? Where did everyone go?  _

_ In past executions, they used to burn people, but even Beomseok saw the inhumanity in it. This must have been what it was like.  _

_ He had almost given up when he saw it. A mound of land loomed before him, its land green and clear of the blaze. He gasped and stumbled towards it. The flames grew more frantic, the intensity building. It ate away at his clothes, and tears gathered in his eyes as he began to feel the  _ burn _. It spread from his lungs, the searing pain that came from inhaling smokey air, and fuck, it hurt. He sunk to his knees before it.  _

_ The hill stretched high above him, an immovable obstacle. He clawed at the shrubbery, desperately clutching for a handful of  _ anything _ to keep him from being dragged down. His soot-streaked hands came away blue, petals sticking to the sweat on his skin. A chill ran down his spine, and he tore his gaze up the stretch of the hill. A figure stood at the top, watching. Their hair was light, reflecting the shine of the fire. In his desperation, Wooyoung couldn’t make out the figure’s face. It was shadowed, darkened by the surrounding chaos. Wooyoung reached a hand out, a cry for help on his lips, but the figure turned away from him, and they left him to writhe at the bottom of the hill.  _

.

Wooyoung stood by the entrance of the castle. The courtyard spread out in front of him below a rise of steps, and his father was a statue by his side. Guards surrounded them, eyes cast to the front gates. 

It was a bright day. The dregs of snow that still lingered behind sparkled against the cobblestone, and Wooyoung found himself constantly moving his eyes, as looking in one place for too long made them burn. 

Despite his warm clothing—a thick, red wool shirt laced in the front—, Wooyoung shivered. The sun was blinding, but it lacked its warmth. He focused on keeping himself still. 

This day came faster than Wooyoung expected. A small party was passing through the gates on horseback, the clap of hooves discordant against Wooyoung’s ears. A few servants tread by their sides on foot, weary from the long journey. 

The Essetirians had arrived. 

Wooyoung met eyes with who could only be Princess Sena. She sat tall astride a white horse, and her pale clothes were untouched by dirt. Long locks of wavy, dark hair fell past her face, which was all sharp lines and plump lips. Her eyes were lined with kohl, and from where Wooyoung stood, he could see a dark cloak draped across her shoulders. 

She was beautiful.

To her side, King Sungho sat tall and regal on his steed. He was younger than Beomseok. Gray had yet to touch his hair, and he possessed an air of strength. Wooyoung glanced at his father from the corner of his eye, but he remained impassive, the usual stony mask covering his face. 

Wooyoung eyed the Essetirian soldiers surrounding the two as they all dismounted. His knights could take them easily if a skirmish were to break out. At least, he thought they could. His judgement may be skewed from bias and hopeful outcomes, but the soldiers were the stocky, brawny type of men who lacked the speed and quick thinking Wooyoung prided his knights in having. 

But he must admit, the soldiers were an intimidating sight at first glance, with their heavy builds and bulky equipment. 

With a tilt of his head, Beomseok began walking down the steps, two guards trailing behind, and Wooyoung cautiously followed them. Beomseok greeted King Sungho with a handshake and a formal welcome, but Wooyoung tuned out of their conversation almost immediately. 

The Princess stood in front of him now. Up close, she matched his height, and he noticed the clear blue of her eyes. They were unusual, and they only added to her visual. 

Wooyoung should be delighted. He should be happy to have a beautiful bride. 

These days, happiness was far away, and no matter how fast he ran to catch it, it was always ten feet ahead. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said. 

“Likewise.” Her voice was smooth and melodious as she offered a small hand to him. Wooyoung gently took it and brushed his lips over her knuckles. It was a standard greeting between two of the same rank, but knowing what would become of them, it felt oddly personal. Wooyoung wanted to run away. 

Their fathers were in deep conversation, and around them, horses were being led to the stables and bags taken from their saddles. The Princess smiled. It was sickeningly sweet, but a small part of his brain thought maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to see it every day. 

“Is there a servant to show me to my rooms?” she asked, and Wooyoung’s heart plummeted. 

He isn’t here.

Wooyoung tilted his head down, shaking off the voice in his head. 

“I thought I’d accompany you myself,” he said. 

“Then lead the way.” 

Wooyoung nodded and turned to the entrance of the castle. 

Her chambers weren’t too far from his own, and its interior was the same, minus the few touches of Wooyoung that only existed in his own. It was a pleasant living space, fit for a princess. Sena seemed satisfied upon walking in. Wooyoung glanced nervously back at the door. 

“Shall I leave you to rest?” Wooyoung said. “It must have been a long journey.” 

She shook her head, “Actually, I was wondering if you’d stay for lunch. We should get to know each other, Prince Wooyoung.” 

“‘Wooyoung’ is fine. No need for formalities,” he said. 

“And the same applies to me. You may call me ‘Sena.’”

Wooyoung nodded, and he bit his lip. He very much did  _ not _ want to have lunch with her today. He had other things to do: People to visit, feast preparations to complete before tomorrow evening. He’d have plenty of time to talk to her after. He could put it off for a bit longer. 

“I’m afraid I have other duties to attend to. Perhaps another time?” 

Wooyoung couldn’t read the look in her eye. She didn’t seem to take offense, so maybe it was curiosity? When she didn’t reply, Wooyoung took a hesitant step back, and with an awkward bow, he stumbled slightly out the door and sped away from her room. As getaways go, it was far from clean. He didn’t care. 

He had somewhere to be. 

He heard Hongjoong sigh as he pressed the doors open- the small clink of glass and the scratch of a quill followed. Hongjoong was sitting at a desk, and Wooyoung wondered what had him so deep in thought. Wooyoung’s random visits to the physician’s chambers have been common for the past few days. 

San was on his side, facing the doors. No one believed he would make it, but the way he avoided death was a miracle Wooyoung didn’t want to question. San’s own stubbornness must be at fault, and he thanked god for it. Hongjoong had left the quarrel in for the longest time- something about how taking it out would kill him faster than just leaving it in. But eventually, he took the risk of removing it. There was blood everywhere, and Wooyoung could only watch from the corner of the room with bated breath and grit teeth. Hongjoong let him in because they all thought it would be San’s last day. Even Yeosang came in and took Wooyoung’s hand, squeezing his fingers tight. 

That was yesterday, and somehow, San was still alive. 

“Hi, Hongjoong,” Wooyoung said. “How is he?” 

“Still breathing. I think. You might want to check for yourself.” Hongjoong returned to his glasses and papers, barely sparing Wooyoung a glance. 

Wooyoung knew this nonchalance was Hongjoong’s way of giving them privacy, and he internally thanked him. He made his way over to the cot, eyes catching on the bandages wrapped snug around San’s upper chest, blossoms of red blooming through. Hongjoong would have to change them soon. San’s eyes were closed. They’ve been closed for the past three days. 

He knelt down and took San’s hand. His fingertips brushed across San’s wrist, and he closed his own eyes, the fluttering pulse keeping him anchored to the ground. 

He didn’t realize how much he loved San’s voice until it was gone. He had been going through his days purposefully avoiding any thought of San. But every once in a while, he expected to hear a sharp quip, or a small chuckle, and he would turn his head and find no one there. It was exhausting. It choked him up, making him drown in air. 

“I can’t believe you’re pulling through this,” he muttered, his grip on San’s hand growing tighter. “How are you so strong?” He reached out to touch him—his cheek, the bandages, the bare skin of his stomach, anything—, but he stopped, his hand curling into a fist. 

Eyes settled on him, and he looked back over at Hongjoong, who turned his head away so fast he must have gotten whiplash because a wince quickly followed it. His papers lay abandoned on the desk. 

Knowing Wooyoung caught him, Hongjoong sighed. “Sorry,” he said. He scratched the back of his neck. “It’s just… I’ve never seen you like this before.” 

“Like what?” 

Hongjoong gave him a faint smile, and he paused, thinking for a moment before he spoke. 

“Afraid.” 

Wooyoung almost laughed. “Hongjoong, I don’t think I’ve ever been more afraid in my life.” 

With a slight shake of his head, Hongjoong stood, the abrupt movement almost toppling his chair over in a fight against gravity. “I’m going to… run errands,” he said. “Stay as long as you like.” 

Wooyoung nodded and returned his attention to his servant. He was so serene in his sleep. Wooyoung wished he would just open his eyes. San was close, but he felt so, so far away. He was untouchable, even as Wooyoung laced their fingers together and held San’s skin against his. Faintly, he could hear Hongjoong puttering around the room, doing his rounds before leaving them alone. 

Hongjoong opened the door with a slight exclamation, and Wooyoung froze. From beyond Hongjoong, he caught a glimpse of a stumbling figure with long locks and piercing eyes—Sena was there, behind the door. 

Wooyoung slowly leant back, taking his hand away from San and already missing the contact. He gulped. Of course, of all the people it could be, it was her. Fuck, he didn’t feel strong enough for this right now. He wanted to be with San,  _ alone _ , with no one there to see his vulnerability. His shame. 

Sena was going to look at him and know something Wooyoung himself wasn’t ready to accept. 

“Ah, apologies. I came to speak with the Prince,” she said. “I’m Princess Sena, from Essetir.” 

Hongjoong gawked at her, but he offered his name before stepping to the side. He looked back at Wooyoung before giving him an awkward thumbs up. 

Wooyoung couldn’t hold back the wince. 

The physician ducked out of the room, and Wooyoung could hear his footsteps clapping against the stone flooring. Soon, it was just the two of them alone, or three, if Wooyoung counted the labored breathing of San behind him. 

“I must admit, I followed you,” Sena walked towards him, gliding through air. With a head tilted up, she scanned the room, taking in the organized chaos of Hongjoong’s workplace. Her eyes roamed around before latching on to Wooyoung’s tense shoulders and the body that lay behind him. 

She whistled under her breath. “That looks painful.” 

Wooyoung pressed his palms flat against the cot and kept his fingers from curling into fists or grabbing San’s hand again. “Yes, I suppose so,” he said, and while his words did not waver, they did nothing to hide the panic that lay building in his chest. 

Suddenly, she was next to him, kneeling down and nudging him to the side. Wooyoung startled from her close proximity, from the warmth that radiated from her. He stared as she brushed a thin finger over San’s cheekbone. He held himself back from pushing her away.

“Who is this?” she asked.

He didn’t have an immediate answer. That was the golden question, wasn’t it? Who was San to him? He wasn’t sure, but there was no way he’d let Sena catch on to that. 

Ever since he learned of this marriage, he tried not to think about San and his bride…  _ coexisting _ . Interacting. He wanted her to like him. He wanted her to be San’s friend too. He wanted her to let them stay the way they were now. 

Beomseok’s words wouldn’t leave his head, though. 

_ ‘She’s cunning. She’s willing to make tough decisions. She fills in the qualities you lack’ _

Wooyoung didn’t think San would like someone like that. San was all soft edges and small kindnesses. 

Sena was still waiting for an answer Wooyoung didn’t want to give, so he offered a half truth. 

“He’s my servant.” 

If the words surprised her, she didn’t show it on her face. 

“You refused to dine with me to instead kneel by your servant’s side?” 

Oh god. Wooyoung didn’t have an excuse. Sena caught him red-handed. What was he supposed to say? 

His silence was a response in itself, and she shook her head. “In most cases, I would take this as an insult.” 

_ As she probably should. _

“You’re lucky he’s pretty,” she mumbled, and Wooyoung’s world froze in place. His jaw threatened to drop to the floor, so he clamped it shut. The words didn’t process correctly in his brain. They went through one ear and out the other, and the only thing it left behind was a resounding ‘ _ what the fuck?’  _

She brushed a hand against San’s upper arm before trailing to the bandages, and as if Wooyoung hadn’t screwed up enough, he itched to tear her hand away and physically get between them. 

“Wh-What are you doing?” Wooyoung stuttered through the question as she teared the bandages, jolting Wooyoung out of his stupor with her sudden movement. San let out a small whimper in his sleep, and Wooyoung caught her wrists. “What are you  _ doing?”  _

She glanced over at Wooyoung, her blue, doe eyes wide. “He’s going to die,” she said, tilting her head toward San’s body. 

“No, he’s not. He’s gotten through the worst of it.”

Sena shook her head. “Listen to the way he breathes,” she said. 

Wooyoung had been ignoring it ever since he walked in- the almost inaudible rasp of San’s breath, like each was a harder struggle than the last. “It’s okay. He’ll be fine.” 

“So you’re  _ that _ kind of person? Ignore it and it’ll go away?” She pushed Wooyoung’s hands away. “I know we just met, but you’ll have to trust me.” She returned to San’s bandages, pulling at the cloth and tearing them away from his skin. 

He wasn’t… He wasn’t  _ ignoring _ it. She.. 

She tore the last piece off, and Wooyoung had to look away. He had seen many injuries. He had  _ given _ people injuries. 

He didn’t like seeing it on San. For the first time in many long years, he was reliving his first execution, that same feeling returning and bile rising in his throat. 

Sena made a noise of disgust. “What  _ happened _ to him?” She pressed a few fingers over the wound, hands lightly placed on his chest. 

“Crossbow bolt in the back,” he mumbled, and her eyes nearly bugged out of her head. 

“In the  _ back? _ ” She rose off the floor and tilted San towards her, eyes scanning the torn skin that mirrored his front. “How is this man still alive?” 

Wooyoung didn’t have an answer. 

She shook her head with a huff. “Do  _ not _ break my concentration, or he  _ will _ die.” 

Wooyoung furrowed his brows. What was she trying to do? 

She began muttering words under her breath, and Wooyoung didn’t understand what was happening until her eyes glowed gold and San’s breathing eased. 

_ She had magic.  _

_ God, she really had magic.  _

Wooyoung clenched his hands into fists as she spoke, holding his breath. After what seemed like forever, San’s skin  _ knit _ together like nothing. San whined, the sound burning into Wooyoung's memory, but Sena was… she was  _ healing _ San right before his eyes. 

Sena fell back onto her legs, and Wooyoung caught her against him. Her breaths came heavy, and Wooyoung leant her gently against a table behind them. 

“Is he…?” 

“He’s fine. He’ll wake up hungry and confused.” 

Wooyoung’s head snapped up and looked over at San in wonder. A discolored patch of skin replaced the wound, the only remaining evidence being small traces of dried blood. Wooyoung ran his fingers over San’s chest and found only smooth skin.

“It’s a miracle,” he whispered. 

Sena closed her eyes. “It’s magic.” When she opened them again, the gold faded back to blue.

And then Wooyoung wanted to cry because  _ San was okay.  _ He wasn’t going to leave him. Magic wasn’t going to leave his life that quickly, not after he’d just found it. The fear that had been building up, the chasm that grew below his feet over the past few days slowly disappeared. Everything was going to be okay. 

Wooyoung stared at San’s face. His features seemed softer. They had been so tense earlier, but now that his breath evened out, San was pouting in his sleep, the curve of his lips taunting him. About what, Wooyoung didn’t know, but they were always taunting him, teasing him. 

Behind him, Sena sat up, her own fatigue already dying away. Wooyoung shifted in front of her, closer to San. Now, more than ever, he wished he was alone. Yes, she saved him, but Wooyoung was selfish. He wanted to lie his head on San’s chest. He wanted to brush his fingers in his hair. He wanted his face to be the first thing San saw when he woke. Sena’s presence was a barrier. 

“You can wake him now. He’ll be good as new,” Sena said, and Wooyoung gulped. With shaking fingers, he flicked the top of San’s head, and if he used it as an excuse to briefly run a hand over the spot, then Sena didn’t have to know. San grimaced, but he didn’t wake. Wooyoung pushed San over flat on his back and shook his shoulders. 

Wooyoung’s throat was dry as the muscles tensed under his hands, and his breathing grew slightly uneven in the anticipation. Behind him, Sena moved, nudging Wooyoung out of the way and settling back at San’s side, breaking their connection. A scream of frustration threatened to escape his lips, but he clamped it down. 

San’s eyes fluttered open, and Sena loomed over him, Wooyoung dejected and sitting by his legs. San lifted his head slightly, groggily looking up at Sena above him. 

“Uhh,” he slurred, blinking slowly. “Hi.” 

Wooyoung sighed inwardly at the sound of San’s voice. 

Sena chuckled. “Hello. What’s your name?” 

“San.” 

Sena smiled, and Wooyoung winced. San looked entranced. Either that, or he was still half asleep. Knowing his servant, it was probably the latter, but the image still burrowed its way into Wooyoung’s head. It hurt, though Wooyoung refused to acknowledge why. 

“I’m Princess Sena,” she said, and San’s eyes grew comically wide. 

“O-Oh!” San startled. “From Essetir.” 

“Yes,” she smiled again. “I didn’t know the servants here were so handsome.” 

San blinked, and Wooyoung held his breath. “You should see Seonghwa,” San said. 

Sena was obviously preoccupied, so Wooyoung let his fingertips fall against San’s hip. He was needy for attention. San hadn’t even  _ acknowledged _ him yet. His fingers threatened to clamp down and  _ squeeze _ . 

Did… was San mad at him? The idea struck him at once.  _ He should be _ . This was all Wooyoung’s fault, after all. He didn’t think he could handle an angry San and keep his composure around the Princess, so he dropped his gaze, staring where his hand brushed against the side of San’s hip. 

They were still talking. Words drifted in the air and went right over Wooyoung’s head. He didn’t bother to listen in until he heard his name fall from San’s lips. His head snapped up, and there San was, staring at him and leaning back on an elbow, slightly propped up. 

Sena was watching him as well with an eyebrow raised. “I think I will retire to my quarters,” she said. “I’ll see you both at the feast, I presume?” 

“Yes, of course,” Wooyoung replied, and he awkwardly cleared his throat. “And thank you. For healing him. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.” 

“This... alliance will be sufficient,” she said. She rose to her feet and nodded before walking away. 

_ Finally. _

Wooyoung shuffled over and smoothed a hand over San’s chest, his fingers burning where skin met skin. His composure finally broke, and he sighed, a half whine escaping his lips. San wrapped a hand around Wooyoung’s wrist. 

“You okay?” San asked. 

_ No.  _ “Yes.” 

San blinked. And he smiled. Wooyoung wanted to hide. “She seems like a handful,” he said. 

Wooyoung shook his head. “I wouldn’t know. She only arrived today.” 

San hummed, and Wooyoung’s fingers curled against it. “She’s really pretty,” San mumbled. 

_ You’re really pretty too.  _ “I suppose so.” 

“Your kids will be so beautiful.” 

Wooyoung choked. 

"Never say anything like that again.” 

“What? It’s the truth.” 

Wooyoung bat a hand against San’s chest, but his stomach dropped immediately after. Was San fully healed? Did he just hurt him? Oh god, oh- 

“If you really can’t get out of this marriage, you could at least  _ try _ to find something positive in it,” San said. “I know it sucks, but she seems decent, and-” he looked down at his chest and laid a hand against Wooyoung’s, brushing over the discolored patch that used to be covered in blood. “She’s magic.” 

_ You are too. _

Wooyoung didn’t want to look on the bright side. He wanted everything to stay the same. What happened to the San that told him to marry for love? What happened to the San that egged him to defy his father? 

“I don’t want to marry her,” Wooyoung said. “You know that.” 

Leaning back down, San closed his eyes, and Wooyoung kept himself from physically pulling his eyelids back open. They had been closed for far too long. Wooyoung wanted to see his eyes, to get lost in them. 

Wooyoung wanted so many fucking things he couldn’t have. 

“This would be so much easier for both of us if you did want to marry her,” San mumbled. “As your friend, I mean, watching you go through with this.” 

“Yeah.” 

He couldn’t believe he was talking to San- a living, breathing,  _ perfectly fine _ San. He almost pinched himself to break out of this dream, but he didn’t  _ want _ to. He didn’t want to go back to walking the castle corridors with a piece of himself on a deathbed. 

“San?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Never do that again.” Wooyoung let his head drop onto the cot. His face smushed against the soft material, the top of his head against San’s arm. He left his hand where it was, though, underneath San’s. It was childish, but he didn’t want San to see the tears welling in his eyes. “Never put your life before mine,” he said, his words muffled. 

San was quiet, and for a second, Wooyoung thought that was that and everything was settled. But then he spoke up. “You’re the  _ Prince _ , Woo,” he said. “If it comes to it, I’d gladly do it again.” 

And at that, Wooyoung almost let out a sob. San was willing to drag him back through hell, and Wooyoung didn’t want that. He couldn’t. 

“San,” he said. “If I dropped dead right now, how would you feel?” Wooyoung lifted his head and watched San’s eyes change, a slight furrow to his brow and a part between his lips. San shook his head slightly, but Wooyoung continued. “That’s what I’ve had to live through for the past few days.”

San’s hand tightened over his own. “Trust me, it’s not the same.” 

“Just promise me you won’t do something like that again. That’s all I want.” 

“I can’t.” 

Wooyoung pressed his lips together in a straight line. “Then I guess no more hunting trips for you.” 

San groaned. “Thank god. I can finally get a break from you.” 

It was a change of subject, an open invitation to return to their light-hearted banter. But there were so many things swirling in Wooyoung’s head, so many things he wanted to talk about—the magic, the hole San left in his chest, Sena, his father.. So many things. 

“Can I go get some clothes? And some food? I’m starving.” San shot up, startling Wooyoung away. He swung his legs over the side of the cot and frowned, stretching as his blood flow returned and the stiffness in his limbs grew apparent. Wooyoung offered a shoulder to lean on, but San ignored it. Wooyoung’s heart ached a little at that, but that was okay. 

“Can we scare some people? Pretend I’m the walking dead?” San picked up his old bloodied shirt Hongjoong had left strewn across a chair. 

Wooyoung fought the urge to bury his face in his hands and scream in frustration. This man was insufferable. 

But on second thought, the look on Yeosang’s face would be priceless. 

“Fine.” 

.

It was the day of the feast, and the castle corridors were a jam of bodies, people rushing to finish preparations. Wooyoung usually spent these mornings bored out of his mind. On days of festivities, it was customary for royalty to stay out of public eye until the event begins, which meant Wooyoung was stuck in his room for the entire day. 

San was… he was  _ giddy _ . Throughout the day, the excitement buzzed off his skin as he made his way in and out of Wooyoung’s rooms. It was contagious. 

Seeing San up and on his feet had been a shock for everyone. Seonghwa nearly fainted, and Wooyoung never laughed harder in his life. To San, it was like his injury never happened. After a full meal and a night’s rest, he was back in top form- the same, bubbly San. Magic truly was amazing. 

When the grueling afternoon blurred into the hours of evening, San opened the door one last time. Wooyoung was half asleep on his bed. He was grateful for the extra rest the day brought, but he thrived off of human interaction and physical activity. He longed to be out training with the knights or just watching as preparations were being made. At least, he’d get his fair share of it at the feast.

So his heart leapt when the door opened, for a few different reasons. Yes, he’d finally get out of this cage, but  _ god _ , San had just walked in looking  _ fine.  _

He wore a usual peasant’s shirt—long sleeved and cream colored, laces haphazardly tied to keep its v-neck intact—, but there was something  _ different _ . San’s hair was usually floppy, untamed and left to the mercy of outside elements. Now, though, he used a paste to gloss it back, a dark swirl casting a shadow over one eye. As San grew closer, Wooyoung could make out dark smudges over his eyelids and a shimmer over his cheekbones, his lips pinker than they ought to be. 

He swallowed back a greeting in fear of cracking his voice. 

A bundle of clothes was in his arms, and Wooyoung knew it was finally time to get ready for his appearance at the feast. 

“That’s new,” Wooyoung gestured to his face. “You know only the women wear cosmetics, right?” 

San shrugged, biting a lip and looking away. “Sena insisted it would look good on me.” 

_ Sena?  _

Sena was going to be bad for his health. “You’ve been… with Sena today?”

“Yeah! I never really thanked her for… the whole magic thing, so I went and our conversation got a little carried away,” San said. “Don’t tell anyone, but I found Hongjoong’s stash of makeup. It’s quality stuff too.” 

Great. Just great. He was happy San and Sena were getting along, but he didn’t  _ need _ this. San was perfectly fine before. 

But Sena was right. He did look good. 

“I got your outfit fresh from the tailor!” San said. His eyes were sparkling, and there was a bounce in his step. He dumped the material onto the bed and pulled Wooyoung to his feet. “You’re going to love it, but I don’t have that much time to fix you up. I might have to rush through some things.” 

Wooyoung gulped as San invaded his space.  _ Too close, too close, too close.  _

San’s eyes, while always bright, were intense as his fingers fumbled against Wooyoung’s shirt. He sighed. “Can you get this off yourself today? I really don’t have  _ time.”  _

Wooyoung nodded, breathing again when San pulled away. He didn’t realize he had stopped. 

“You’re awfully quiet,” San said. 

“And you’re... “ Wooyoung trailed off, words escaping him. “You’re wearing makeup.” 

_ You’re so pretty I want to jump out the window.  _

San gave him a strange look. “Are you… okay?” 

“Half asleep.” 

“Fair.” 

Wooyoung shuffled out of his shirt and prayed his blush wouldn’t show through his skin. San turned back with a white button down in his hands and threaded Wooyoung’s arms through the sleeves. Wooyoung had millions of these shirts. This was normal. Completely normal. 

San worked to button the shirt, fingers brushing lightly against Wooyoung’s stomach, and his touch-starved ass almost leapt out of his own skin. San’s lips glistened with product, and lord have mercy, Wooyoung wasn’t getting out of there alive. 

Once Wooyoung was fully dressed, San spun him around and pushed him across the room to show him in the mirror. He brought his arms around Wooyoung’s waist, hooking a chin over his shoulder. “Look at you,” he purred, and Wooyoung clamped his lips together to keep himself from smiling. 

Over the button down, he wore a dark blue velvet vest with silver linings and flowers twisting at the hems. A similarly colored cloak draped over him, the same silver petals woven along the edges. It fell in front of him on one side, the other hooked behind his shoulder and bunching underneath San’s chin. It was clasped in the middle with his family’s crest, an iron dragon holding it together. 

“The tailor told me you need to wear the circlet,” San said. His chin dug even deeper against Wooyoung’s skin as he spoke. Paired with the heat against his back and the picture they made in the mirror, Wooyoung melted on the spot. 

“Of course. I’m the Crown Prince, and this is a formal event,” he said. 

“I’ve always wanted to see what you looked like in it,” San said, unaware of what his words were doing to Wooyoung’s heart. 

“Go get it then.” It didn’t exactly fit Wooyoung’s attire for the night, but there’s nothing he could do about that. 

The circlet had a permanent spot in Wooyoung’s room. It rested in the back of his wardrobe, only taken out in times of importance. In San’s second week as his servant, he had pulled it out unknowingly, and Wooyoung scolded him endlessly about it. It was a delicate thing, all silver swirls and red gemstones. It was ironic, how strong they wanted him to be while his crown was so fragile. They placed this circlet on his head when they named him Crown Prince. It was symbolic, a mark of his title, a taste of what he’d become.

San had it looped through his own arm now. It rested at the crook of his elbow, and he held a brush and a tube of paste in either hand, a goofy smile on his face. 

“Your hair is always so messy, Young-ah,” San said, and Wooyoung’s face grew hot. 

“Whatever you say.” 

San sat the items on the floor by Wooyoung’s feet and dragged a chair over in front of the mirror. As Wooyoung sat, San picked up the brush, twirling it between his fingers. Wooyoung’s eyes were drawn to the movement, and his heart flipped in time with it. 

This was normal too. San always fixed his hair. This was nothing new. He was used to San’s fingers in his hair, working through the knots and tangles. 

Jung Wooyoung, this was nothing new. 

He bit his lip to keep a noise from escaping his lips. He watched in the mirror as San set down the brush, pinching playfully at Wooyoung’s ears. 

“Are you excited for the feast?” San asked. 

Was he? Wooyoung wasn’t sure. He had been to so many of these throughout his life. It was his first with San, though. San would be a constant presence behind him, available at his beck and call to refill his wine goblet or do his wishes. So yes, he may be a  _ little _ excited. 

“Not as much as you,” he said. “You’re practically bouncing off the walls.” 

“You should see the great hall, Wooyoung! It’s amazing.” 

Sinsu knew how to throw its feasts, and the decor was always over the top. When he was younger, Wooyoung loved it. He thrived on the ostentatious. That was before his father began cracking down on him: his studies, his duties to the kingdom.. the works. 

“I can assure you I’ve seen it all before,” Wooyoung said. 

San shook his head. “Not like this.” 

Wooyoung furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean?” 

“You’ll see,” San said. “They let Sena out of her room.” 

_ “What?” _

San shrugged and giggled behind a hand at Wooyoung’s shocked expression. “I can’t wait to see your face.” 

Wooyoung would shake his head, but San was setting the last few strands of hair in place. He didn’t do anything particularly special with Wooyoung’s hair, not like the swirl in his own, but Wooyoung was still in awe. Even if he didn’t feel like a prince, San certainly made him look like one. 

The last piece was the circlet. His eyes tracked every movement as San picked it up. His hands paused, and for a second, Wooyoung thought San would place it on his  _ own _ head. Wooyoung wanted him to. He wanted to see San with his colors, his gemstones in his pretty hair. A delirious part of him wanted to shove San into the chair and do it himself, to set the jewelry on his head and tell him- 

_ ‘This is what you could look like if you were mine.’  _

Wooyoung froze. What the fuck? Where had that come from? His heart-rate picked up, his breath suddenly uneven. He- 

San sat the circlet on Wooyoung’s head, and his train of thought trailed away. He met San’s eyes in the mirror, something unreadable in his face as a solemn silence took over the room. San’s knuckles were heavy against the back of his neck, and Wooyoung reached back and took San’s hands, placing them flat on his shoulders. He stared at the mirror, and a prince and his servant stared back, nothing more. 

Someone knocked on the door, and San drew away, almost tripping over his own feet. “I think that’s our cue to leave!” 

Wooyoung kept his eyes on the mirror, the space behind him now empty. 

.

Wooyoung had to admit, the great hall was pretty nice. 

Yeosang had always called it ‘the great hell,’ but walking in now, it was the furthest thing from hell. The room was vast, almost cavernous. Wooyoung always tried his best to avoid the great hall due to its proximity to the throne room, but alas, seeing it now, he may go back on that idea. 

It was long, with windows running along its sides. The room was lit by a mass of floating white orbs- Sena’s work, he presumed. It cast an eerie, wintery glow around them, their shadows constantly shifting against the stone architecture. 

They arrived after the main crowd, so people were settling in by the time they walked in. At the end of the room, three long tables sat on a slightly raised dais, forming an open square. Beomseok and King Sungho were side by side, and further down, Sena sat with an empty chair next to her. Important advisors and court member took up the rest. On the floor, two long tables and benches stretched along the sides of the room for castle residents and the rest of the Essetirian delegation. The center of the hall was packed with people of all types, but would later be emptied for entertainers. 

The warm aroma of roast and wine already filled the air, as well as the chatter of guests and the clink of glasses. Everyone wore bright colors and expensive materials, save for the servants. Besides the magic above their heads, it seemed like any other Sinsu feast. Wooyoung mentally prepared himself for a night of sitting up straight and playing the role. 

San was enamoured, though. As he walked behind Wooyoung, he stared at everything with wide eyes. He reached up and tried to touch an orb as it hovered over his head, but his fingers passed right through. 

Wooyoung sighed and began walking to the dais, smiling politely along the way. The bounce had returned to San’s step, and Wooyoung felt like he was leading a dog on a leash. 

He reached the end of the room and bowed quickly to his father before taking the seat to Sena’s side. She wore a lilac dress, her body swathed in silks. Her dark hair was pinned up, and her jawline almost rivaled San’s. She noticed his presence and gave a slight nod before smiling back behind him. 

“San! You took my advice!” 

San smiled and brushed a hand against the back of his neck, eyes lingering on Wooyoung. “Yeah… I did.” 

“It looks good,” she said. 

When did  _ they _ get so cozy with each other? Wooyoung scrunched up his nose. If only they had let him out of his room… 

“It’s good to see you again, Sena,” Wooyoung said, trying to take his mind off of it. 

“It’s good to see you too.” 

San fidgeted behind him and scanned the room, probably looking for Hongjoong or Seonghwa. Yeosang hated these events, and he made it a point to never show up until the last moment. His empty chair was on the other side of the room. Beomseok learned early on that it was never a good idea to keep Wooyoung and Yeosang in close proximity during these kinds of things. 

Wooyoung sighed. “San, go get it out of your system. Just keep in mind your break will be shorter.” 

San smiled and left the table, quickly mingling into the crowd. Wooyoung imagined he was picking food off plates as he went by, much like he did Wooyoung’s daily meals. That man was a menace. 

“He’s something special,” Sena said, and Wooyoung’s head jerked up. 

“He’s my servant.” 

She turned her head to the side. “Yes… and no. He said you are friends.” 

Friends. Yeah, they were friends, but Wooyoung thought there was something  _ more _ . At least,  _ he _ felt it. He didn’t understand it, and he couldn’t find the words to describe it. Yeosang was his friend. San was both that and more. 

“I guess you could say that,” Wooyoung said. “It’s a bit unorthodox, but yes, we’re friends.” 

Sena leaned back and smiled. “A prince and a servant.” 

“It’s not my fault. He has that… friendly aura. It’s impossible not to befriend him.” 

“I see what you mean,” she said. “It helps that he’s attractive too.” 

Wooyoung narrowed his eyes. Her jewelry gleamed at him from the soft glow of the hall, and he struggled to keep his focus on her face. “You… you do know they plan for us to marry?” 

Sena shrugged. “You befriend who you want, and I’ll marry who  _ I  _ want. If it happens to be you, then great,” she said. “I’m keeping my options open.” 

Wooyoung gaped at her, and she glanced over her shoulder at the Kings. “If it’s just between us…” she began, then stopped, biting her lip. 

“No, do tell me what’s on your mind.” 

She shook her head. “It’s best you don’t know.” 

Wooyoung furrowed his brows. Why… why were the Essetirians here then? In Sinsu? Beomseok thought they were here to marry Sena off, but from the way she spoke, that didn’t seem the case. There was something off about this. 

“Well, I’m glad. Although, my father will need to know the change of plans,” he said. “I’m afraid he put me under orders to court you.” 

Sena sighed. “That’s what we’re here for- blindly following orders,” she said. “Sungho is under the same impression, so let’s not let it leave the table, okay? We can find a way out of it when it comes to it.” 

“O-Oh. Okay then.” 

_ Real eloquent, Wooyoung.  _

But now, as far as he could tell, he was a free man now! They could find another way to seal the alliance, right? This wasn’t quite over, but he was happy to pretend it was for now. 

A horn sounded, and the center of the hall cleared out as people swarmed to the tables. Servants came and served the first course, and Wooyoung wondered where the hell San had gone. His absence would draw unwanted eyes, and Wooyoung wrung his fingers, not yet touching the roasted meat in front of him. 

He needed a drink. Or maybe talking to Sena would be a good distraction. Now that he knew they were not getting married, it’d be easier to befriend her. She seemed nice enough; at least, she had healed San knowing he was only a servant. Wooyoung would be in an entirely different mindset now if she hadn’t shown up. He.. He didn’t even want to think about it, so he pushed it to the back on his mind. 

“The lights are very beautiful,” he said. 

Sena smiled. “Yes, I suppose so.” 

“How did you learn magic?” Wooyoung asked. 

She thought for a second. “Well.. I think the better question is, how did  _ you _ make it possible?”

“I didn’t.” 

She paused while cutting her food. “You must have done  _ something.” _

Wooyoung shook his head. “No, I don’t think I did.” 

There was a small loll in the conversation before she spoke again. “Essetir has an archive of preserved magic books. They’re forbidden documents, restricted only to the royal family.” She brought a piece of meat to her lips and chewed. “Once I realized magic was back, I did some studying.” 

Magic books? With spells and incantations? She must have used that to heal San. 

“Did you bring any to Sinsu?” 

She nodded. “But only few people can do magic, Wooyoung. You have to already have it in here.” She tapped her chest. 

“I think San does.”

“What about me?” San’s voice piped up, and Wooyoung almost shot out of his chair. He twisted back, and there San was—all dimply and pretty. He was leaning forward, trying to get an ear into their conversation, and Wooyoung overestimated the space between them. 

Wooyoung froze, almost knocking their heads together. His breath caught in his throat, and he stared at San’s wide eyes in front of him, their smokey edges carving a spot permanently in Wooyoung’s head. 

And then they were back in the clearing, blood spilling between his fingertips. San’s eyes were half lidded and blank, lifeless, and Wooyoung’s world was falling apart. 

He gulped and quickly turned away, smoothing his palms against the table. “I was- I was telling Sena about your magic,” Wooyoung said, the words tumbling out of his mouth. 

“My magic?” 

“Mmm-hmm.” Wooyoung took a sip of wine. Hopefully, a few glasses will take the edge off his nerves. San made him too jittery nowadays. 

“San!” Sena suddenly exclaimed, and Wooyoung almost jumped again. “I could teach you!” 

San beamed at her, and Wooyoung didn’t know whether to yell in joy or run out of the room. San was already a menace, but with magic? Actual, practiced magic, spells and all? Wooyoung was going to go insane. 

In the center of the room, a bard had set up on a stool, and he began playing on a lute, spinning tales of dragons and castles and knights. Wooyoung slouched back and gazed at him, purposefully ignoring the chatter behind him. San and Sena were gushing about magic, and all it did was make Wooyoung think about San with gold, sparkly eyes. 

What if San began doing his chores with magic? He could probably snap his fingers and Wooyoung’s chambers would be magically cleaned. That  _ would _ be nice, but that also meant Wooyoung wouldn’t have an excuse to keep San there anymore. He felt so conflicted. 

And Sena. Wooyoung didn’t want to think about them spending too much time together. There was still something… fishy about her that Wooyoung couldn’t put a finger on. 

San sat a hand on his shoulder, idly playing with Wooyoung’s cloak as he laughed at something Sena said. 

Wooyoung took another sip of wine. 

This was going to be a long night. 

(。-`ω´-)

San was having the time of his life. 

Yes, he almost died, but that paled in comparison to finding out he had  _ magic. _ At least, he thought it did. His crossbow incident would have affected him more if his memory was intact. All he could remember was the pain. Everything else was a complete blur. 

Wooyoung was shaken up. Like,  _ really _ shaken up. He spaced out a lot, and his eyes kept lingering on San with something like fear. It was like constantly looking at a kicked puppy. San wanted to pull him in to his arms and tell him everything was alright. He didn’t. He had to stop touching Wooyoung so much. 

He gave in a lot, though. Sometimes he could help himself. Wooyoung would walk by, and San would automatically poke his side. And in return, Wooyoung would look at him with tense eyes and a slight frown. Kicked puppy all over again. 

San kept daydreaming about Balor, too. He kept seeing Wooyoung laughing in the kitchen with his mom (Wooyoung thought he was being so sneaky, but San caught him more than once in there). He kept seeing him playing with the village children and burying his face in San’s neck. He kept seeing him happy. 

At least Sena seemed really nice. Wooyoung got really lucky with her. The feast finally ended, and after a quick farewell, San followed a slightly tipsy Wooyoung back to his rooms. 

“Had a bit too much to drink, sire?” San laughed as they crossed the threshold of the room, quickly closing the door before Wooyoung made a fool of himself in front of the guards that were still posted outside his rooms. 

“Not as much as I should have.” Now alone, Wooyoung slumped against his front, hands latching onto San’s elbows. 

San would be lying if he said he didn’t steal a few sips of wine himself. He, too, thought he should have stolen more. The slight fuzziness in his vision disagreed. 

San hummed. “I’m sorry, Woo, but I don’t think I can draw a bath tonight. I could bribe Seonghwa to do it if you want.”

“Don’t want Seonghwa to bathe me, want  _ you… _ ” Wooyoung slurred through his words, pulling tighter. 

San squeezed his eyes shut. He forced himself to take deep breaths. Wooyoung was drunk. He was a lightweight. Okay. San filed the information away for later. Wooyoung was drunk, and he was spouting nonsense now. 

San wrapped an arm around Wooyoung and walked him back to his bed, sitting him down onto the side. 

“Okay, Young-ah, I’m going to get you ready for bed, and before you know it, I’ll be back in the morning with a glass of water for you. Is that okay?” 

Wooyoung didn’t respond, and San pulled away. Wooyoung had that kicked puppy look again, like he was somewhere far away. He stared at San’s face, eyes wide with unspoken terror. San patted the side of his face, hoping he’d break out of it. “Hey, you’re okay,” he whispered. Wooyoung’s gaze dropped. 

San gently unhooked the cloak, letting it drop from Wooyoung’s shoulders. “Woo?” 

“Sorry, it’s nothing.” 

“Hmm, okay.” 

San avoided Wooyoung’s eyes and reached up. His fingers lightly traced over sharp edges before he took the circlet off Wooyoung’s head. It was light, but it felt heavy in his hands, like it really did hold a burden in its silver swirls. He pulled away. 

“Put it on.” 

San froze in place and gaped. “Huh?” 

“Put.. Put it on.” Wooyoung’s head drooped slightly. “I wanna see.” 

San narrowed his eyes. “Why? So you can make fun of me?” 

“No.” 

Wooyoung didn’t say anything else, so San sighed and dropped it on his head, slightly askew. He felt ridiculous, like he was playing pretend. Was this how Wooyoung felt when it was on  _ his _ head? San doubted it. Wooyoung was… He was regal. San could barely restrain himself from touching him during the feast, from rubbing his back or combing his fingers through his hair. It was torture, but the best kind. This circlet was  _ made _ for Wooyoung, and him only.

“Happy now?” San asked, and he finally met Wooyoung’s eyes again. He wished he didn’t, though, because the look on Wooyoung’s face sparked that small, infinitesimal hope that Wooyoung could ever love him back. 

He had to remember Sena. He had to remember the marriage. 

“Yeah,” Wooyoung breathed out, and San moved to take the circlet off before Wooyoung shook his head. “No. I want you to keep it.” 

“What?” San furrowed his eyebrows. 

“Take it with you.” 

Now  _ that _ was ridiculous. He couldn’t..  _ take _ it. It was a fucking  _ crown _ . And he was a servant. 

“Wooyoung, I can’t. The guards-” 

“Stuff it down your shirt. I don’t care.” Wooyoung fell back against the sheets with a sigh. “Just  _ take it.”  _

San couldn’t fathom the amount of trouble he’d get in if the guards found a royal crown stuffed up his shirt. He’d be executed. Damn. And Wooyoung wasn’t thinking straight. 

“Okay,” he said. He could slip it back in the wardrobe while putting away Wooyoung’s clothes. He seemed drowsy enough not to notice. This’ll be fine. 

He took the circlet off and set it to the side. 

Hopefully, Wooyoung wouldn’t find it. He never looked in his wardrobe, anyway.

.

San was learning magic today! 

He could barely contain his excitement as he made his way down to the training grounds. Sena had asked him if there was an open, secluded spot close to the castle, and the field of blue flowers immediately came to mind. He wished the castle had a garden. One would think it would, but Beomseok apparently didn’t think it was important. 

It would be nice, though. 

Wooyoung was stuck in a meeting with his father and King Sungho. Sena somehow weaseled her way out of attending, not that San was complaining. 

Wooyoung definitely was. That was all he could talk about all morning. 

_ ‘I can’t believe they let  _ her _ out of it! She’s a snake!’ _

They were going to have a few martial problems to work through. 

Sena was already waiting for him, sitting at the base of the hill and frowning at the flowers around her. Her hair was in a braid, and she wore a light yellow dress. San wished he had brought a blanket to keep the dirt away from it. In his defense, the prospect of learning magic clouded his thoughts, and he didn’t think ahead to this point. 

“Hello!” he chirped, sitting down beside her. 

“Hello, San,” she smiled. “Are you ready to learn?” She had two books on her lap, worn from age and falling apart. There wasn’t anything about them that looked particularly magical, but his excitement spiked. 

“Yes!” 

Sena laughed. “Alright then.” 

She opened the book on top and begin talking. “Wooyoung said you’ve done magic before. Do you remember what it felt like?” 

San shook his head. He had been too delirious to process what was happening after he got shot. 

“That’s okay, I can still work with that,” she started. “When you want to use magic, you have to pull it out of yourself. It’s a well, and all you need to do is tap into it.” She held her pointer finger up, and a small flame lept from her nail. “Magic requires spoken word, or spells. This is the extent of nonverbal magic I can do.” She pulled it back, looking away. “Hopefully, I’ll be able to do more with practice.” 

San soaked in every word, eyes brimming with excitement. “That’s amazing!” 

He genuinely didn’t believe this was happening. Magic.. 

“Magic also requires intent,” she said. “You have to know what you want, and you have to really want it. If you have no thing specific in mind, it could go out of control, and who knows what’ll happen.” 

“Got it.” 

Sena nodded. “Good. Let’s start with something simple, then.” She picked up one of the flowers. “This is a nice, pretty blue, right?” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“Not anymore. Let’s turn it pink.” 

An unrestrained grin broke over San’s face, and he practically glowed. “Okay! Okay, what’s the incantation?” 

She pointed to a line in the book, and San leaned over to get a good look. “Read it to get a feel for the words first, and then I’ll try to explain how to get the magic working,” she said. “The language is tricky, and you might feel silly doing it, but familiarizing yourself with the words helps before actually using the magic.” 

She was right. The letters were scrambled in an odd phrase, but he tried to make his best with it. 

_ “Ferien er lyserød..?”  _

Nothing happened, but he didn’t expect it to. He looked up to get confirmation from Sena, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, her eyes grew wide and her mouth dropped open, a look of horror on her face. 

“Is… Is there something wrong?” San felt his heart racing as he looked around, trying to figure out what spooked her. Was his pronunciation that bad? 

“San…” she brought a hand to her mouth and began giggling.  _ “Fuck.” _

San gaped at her. His body froze, and he stopped breathing. Oh god. “What’s wrong? Did I… Did I do something?” 

“Your hair.” She began laughing in full force, verging on hysterics. 

“My  _ hair?!”  _ He pat his head, and  _ thank god _ it was still there. He sighed in quick relief, but then he saw it from the corner of his vision. He paused and stared. And he remembered the original purpose of the spell. 

_ “OH MY GOD.”  _ He was going to have a heart attack. He did  _ not _ just turn his hair pink. “ _ That _ was magic? I didn’t feel a thing!” He frantically ran his hands over his head, hoping it would wipe off. Judging from the expression on Sena’s face, it wasn’t working. “Fix it! Sena, fix it!” 

She cackled. “No, I don’t think I will.” 

Didn’t she understand?!  _ Wooyoung _ was going to see this! San would  _ never _ hear the end of this. He laid back on the grass and groaned. 

“Don’t worry, San! You look good! It suits you.” Sena patted his knee, and if she meant for it to be comforting, it wasn’t working. 

San stared at her. “I am not walking around like this.” 

“Then you’ll have to change it back yourself.” 

“And risk walking around  _ bald?” _

Sena laughed again. “Oh, this is going to be so much fun.”

(。-`ω´-)

The meeting was boring, but what else was new? 

They discussed borders, trade, and taxes today, and they forced Wooyoung to just sit through it. 

How fun. 

He sat and let his mind wander, falling back to old habits as his foot tapped idly against the floor. His back ached from sitting too stiff for a long period of time, and he considered making San give him a massage. 

Great. Now all he could think about was San’s hands on his shoulders, his back. He wanted to grab them and press small kisses to San’s knuckles. 

And who could stop him? San didn’t mind Wooyoung’s touch. In fact,  _ he _ was the one who initiated it most of the time. Would he think it was weird? 

His father would chew his head off; a Prince kissing the hand of his servant was unthinkable. 

San didn’t look like a servant last night, though. Wooyoung was drunk, but he still remembered everything, blurry edges and all. San had looked so beautiful. Wooyoung wanted to hold him and never let go. 

When his headache reached its worst, they adjourned, and Wooyoung stumbled to his feet. Small chatter filled the room as Wooyoung made his escape, ignoring the curious looks he got from the council. 

San was with Sena right now, learning magic. At least, he should be. And Wooyoung was not going to spy on them.

He climbed up a few spiral staircases in one of the castle turrets, ignoring the slight burn in his legs and his uneven breath. He reached the window that looked out into the training grounds and peeked through. He could barely make out two figures sitting in the field. Yes! They were there, and it didn’t seem like San was causing any trouble. That’s all he needed to know. He took a few steps back down, but- 

He paused, took a slow step back, and looked out the window again. 

San’s hair was pink. 

He blinked slowly. 

Okay, then. 

He walked away, only making a few feet before biting into his sleeve and screeching. The muffled noise reverberated around the tower, probably scaring a few pigeons outside. 

This wasn’t okay. 

When Wooyoung thought the bastard couldn’t get more endearing… 

In a daze, he stumbled back down the tower. 

_ Pink. _

His feet automatically moved towards the training grounds, and Wooyoung didn’t have the mental capability to convince himself to stay away. He had to see this before they changed San’s hair back.

He made it there at a record speed, surprised by the lack of people in the corridors. That was a good thing—less people to drag him into meaningless conversations. 

He jogged over to the field. Voices drifted over to him as he came closer, and he grinned. 

Before he knew it, he was standing above them. San was shouting and running his fingers thr ough his hair, and Sena was cackling. Honestly, Wooyoung would be too if he weren’t so shocked himself. 

_ His hair.  _

Wooyoung cleared his throat.  _ “San.”  _

San yelped and grabbed the back of his shirt, pulling it over his head. A soft tuft of pink still peeked through, and Wooyoung was going to faint on the spot. 

“San,” he said slowly. “Put your shirt down.” 

_ “No,”  _ he squeaked. 

_ Squeaked.  _

“Choi San.” 

He didn’t move. Wooyoung walked over, crouched in front of him, and tapped his hand. “San, I could see it all the way from the castle. Put it down.” His voice was strangely calm considering how fast his heart beat. 

“You were  _ spying?”  _

“No, I wasn’t.” 

San tore his head up from the shirt and glared at him. “You can only see this field from the top of the towers,  _ Jung Wooyoung.”  _ And then he froze. 

San’s hair was a mess, but it was a  _ pink _ mess. Wooyoung tentatively reached up and ruffled it. 

He had a magic servant- a magic servant with pink hair. A grin began to spread on his face, and San bat his hand away. 

“I  _ knew _ you would laugh,” he groaned. 

“I’m not laughing.” Wooyoung cupped the sides of San’s face. “You’re pink!” And it was true. Not only was his hair pink, but San’s face was beginning to match the color too. 

San ducked away. “Sena, save me!” He scrambled away, putting her between them. Wooyoung had forgotten she was there. She was staring at them, turning her head between the two with an expression of shock. Ah. This must be the first time she saw them interact freely. 

Wooyoung considered reeling it back, pulling his shoulders up and becoming  _ the Prince _ again, but another look at San, and he quickly chucked the idea out. If San was this comfortable with Sena, then Wooyoung could be too. In hindsight, he probably should have remembered she came from a warring kingdom, but that didn’t matter now. 

“Saaaan, come here.” Wooyoung vaulted over Sena’s legs and tackled him into the flowers. 

“Are we really doing this again?” San yelled, shoving hard at Wooyoung’s chest. 

_ San’s first day at the training grounds- Wooyoung pushed him down the hill.  _

Wooyoung’s armor was off. San’s hair was pink. This time was different. 

This time, Wooyoung wanted to lean down and slot their lips together, to  _ finally _ have San in the way he truly wanted. 

An invisible barrier forced him up and away, and he shouted, landing on his back. He pulled his head up and gaped and San, who had a demonic grin on his face. 

“Sena! Did you see that? I did it!” 

Wooyoung knocked his head back and groaned. Of course. He knew the magic would be a nuisance. 

But dammit, he wanted to touch San’s fluffy hair. He sprung into a crouch and tackled San again, knocking the breath out of both of them. 

“Y-Young-ah,” San gasped, and he froze. Their noses were touching, and Wooyoung couldn’t help but  _ stare.  _

He knew it then. 

He figured it out. 

Everyone said  _ he _ would bring magic back, and then Wooyoung thought it was  _ San _ , not  _ him.  _

But no. 

He couldn’t ignore it anymore, the denial falling apart at his feet. There  _ was _ something, something so life changing and terrifying, and it was the only thing that could explain how  _ he _ triggered the magic. It made Wooyoung’s knees weak and left him in a puddle of goo on the floor. It made him feel so,  _ so _ small in front of something so  _ big _ . The answer was staring him in the face, quite literally.

He was in love. 

Sena tapped his shoulder and pulled him away. Wooyoung let her. 

He knew. He remembered a faint dream, a muzzy memory. 

_ This will end in flames.  _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t notice Sena’s many similarities to Morgana until about halfway through the chapter, and by then I decided to fully commit to it. She, too, has an interesting… character arc… If you know, you know. 
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed this chapter! I’ll admit, it’s a little messier than usual, and I’m not as proud of it— I hope it was readable at least (not fishing for sympathy comments, just my observation as I wrote this one). 
> 
> The next chap is important and has a lot of nuance I need to handle carefully, so I won’t be binge writing it like I did this one. The break will probably be a bit longer :’) See you then. 
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/lynnt1ny) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/lynnt1ny)


	9. The Poisoned Chalice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wooyoung liked the rain. San had no idea why.

San’s ears were still burning. 

He, Sena, and Wooyoung were climbing back up to the training grounds. The sun peeked through dark clouds overhead as they went, and it seemed they were going to get another round of snowfall soon. San couldn’t focus on that, though. Wooyoung’s hand lay heavy on the back of his neck, and his eyes never left San’s side profile. 

San wasn’t going to make it to the castle alive. 

“Wooyoung, if you keep staring at him, he’s going to self combust,” Sena snickered. She had her two books tucked under an arm.

They stopped walking, and San buried his face in his hands with a groan, shoulders slightly hunched. “Woo, get it over with,” he said. His voice muffled by the palms of his hands. “I know you want to do it.” 

San didn’t look up, but he heard a hitch of breath, and Wooyoung’s hand wasn’t on his neck anymore. It was in his hair. Wooyoung’s fingers scratched against his scalp, and San forced himself to hold still as Wooyoung took in the pink hair.

And then Wooyoung’s hands were wrapped around his wrists, pulling San’s palms away from his face. “Let me see you!” 

Bright brown eyes greeted him, and San gulped, his insides turning in somersaults. 

Wooyoung didn’t stop at his hair. After running his fingers through it a few more times, Wooyoung cupped San’s face again, except this time, his thumbs dug against the corners of San’s mouth, and he tapped the pads of his fingers against San’s cheekbones. 

“ _ You _ did this?” Wooyoung asked, bewildered, and San nodded. 

Sena was right. San was seconds away from self combusting, and with his current streak of nonverbal magic, that was a very  _ real _ possibility. 

“I can’t wait to see how people will react,” Wooyoung said, and San’s stomach dropped. So many people were going to  _ stare _ . Wooyoung must have seen it in his eyes because he took a hand away and pinched San’s cheek. “Don’t worry, it’s cute. They’ll love it.” 

San thought Wooyoung was loving this a little bit too much. 

“Are you done yet?” Sena piped up, and San took a step away from Wooyoung’s grabby hands. The way his face was burning, he felt like he was running a fever. 

“You two are weird,” she grimaced. “And dumb.” 

Wooyoung gaped at her, and his face screwed up in disgust. “I am  _ not.” _

“Are you sure about that?” San giggled, and Wooyoung spluttered. 

“I  _ will _ throw you in the stocks.” 

“And  _ I’ll _ magic my way out!” 

Wooyoung glared at him. “Do you want to test that theory? Do you even know how to do that?” 

San opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. 

_ How the hell had he been doing magic?  _

“I’ll.. I’ll think really hard, and it’ll happen,” San said. 

Silence met him, an incredulous look on Wooyoung’s face. 

“Is that really how it works?” 

San shrugged. 

“I can clarify that  _ isn’t _ how it works,” Sena said. “I have no idea how he’s doing this without incantations.” 

“I swear, all I have to do is  _ think _ really hard, or.. or  _ want _ something to happen.” 

“Alright then,” she said. “Turn your hair back to black if that’s it.” 

_ “No.” _ Wooyoung butt in. “I like it like this.” 

San looked back and forth between the two royals and shrugged again. “I… I  _ really _ don’t want to accidentally behead myself.” 

It didn’t look like Wooyoung found that funny. San poked him. 

Sena sighed and started walking back to the castle again. Wooyoung hurried to stroll by her side, and San trailed behind them. 

He looked over the training grounds, a small memory nudging at the back of his brain, and then it hit him:  _ He’d done magic before.  _ His mouth fell open as the image of Wooyoung flashed in his mind, flat on his back and staring at a knight above him, sword in hand. 

How long ago was that? Did San have magic all this time? Was it… getting stronger? 

How many times had San accidentally done magic without realizing it? His first day with the knights— that had to be  _ months _ ago. 

He shook his head and sped to catch up to the royals. 

.

They officially called off the marriage. 

San was in a good mood. 

He didn’t know what happened, only that Sena apparently talked to King Sungho, and they mutually agreed to break it off. It didn’t look like Beomseok had a say in the matter, which made San wonder who was  _ really _ pulling the strings in this situation. 

But all was well, because Wooyoung was free from the marriage, and while another one will pop up eventually, this gave them a little more time. 

Three days had passed, and all was well. Everything was  _ wonderful. _ Wooyoung was smiling more, and San spent more time with Sena. Even in such a short time, she had quickly become a close friend, and they were experimenting with San’s magic. 

But while Wooyoung was obviously…  _ happier _ , he also grew more…  _ physical _ with San. 

San blamed the hair. 

Wooyoung wouldn’t stop touching it. The asshole always had a hand in it, or on San’s waist, or rubbing against his neck. He even tried to bite the top of San’s head, and  _ that _ ended with a lot of shouting and accusations of cannibalism. 

It was just… the type of highly unusual ‘Wooyoung’ behavior that San never questioned, but it was getting to the point where he couldn’t ignore it anymore. It was confusing. Wooyoung was constantly taking San’s heart and throwing it against a wall just to watch it go  _ splat _ . San kept having to remind himself it was only Wooyoung’s touch-starved demon manifesting itself and saying hello. 

Wooyoung also stared at him more. It made San’s skin crawl. It made him want to cross the distance between them, no matter the size, and tug Wooyoung closer until their foreheads knocked together again, like they did in the field- until San could tilt Wooyoung’s chin closer with a finger hooked under his chin to feel his lips. 

These thoughts plagued him, and he found himself with a lot of ‘what ifs’ and ‘what would this _feel_ likes.’ It was unhealthy, and Hongjoong wouldn’t stop scolding him for spacing out because of it. 

Hongjoong  _ had _ been keeping him busy lately. More often than not, San would walk into the physician’s chambers and find it empty, both Hongjoong and his carry-on supplies gone. 

But on another topic, everyone got used to the hair surprisingly fast, San himself included. Now, although he had a pretty good idea on how to change it back, he didn’t because Wooyoung  _ ordered _ him not to. 

That had been an interesting conversation. 

Now, he was getting ready for a magic session with Sena. Two days ago, he had successfully (accidentally) turned half the field pink, and by yesterday, the flowers had died away, and all was mostly blue again. It was weird, but it was magic, so what did San expect? 

He set out in the late morning, after the early chill disappeared and his first set of duties were complete (Wooyoung was a wreck today, but what was new?). The days were growing warmer, but the warmth of the sun had yet to break through the winter chill. A thin layer of frost dimpled the grass under San’s feet as he set off to the field, and overhead, a small bird sang its song. It was nice. He could get used to lazy days like this. 

He passed the pavilion by the hill, letting his fingers trail against its side. Wooyoung had complained endlessly about the cold. It made him stiff in training, and sessions had to be limited. San had a sneaking suspicion Wooyoung’s favorite season was spring. He liked flowers, of course, and he always had the smallest smile when it rained instead of snowed. 

Wooyoung liked the rain. San had no idea why. 

Sena was standing by the edge of the field, scowling down at her feet. It was familiar- she was always frowning when San walked over, only perking up when he spoke up. 

Today, she wore a light blue dress with a dark cloak over her shoulders. Half of her hair was pulled back away from her face, pinned in the back. They made an odd pair- a lanky boy with flamingo hair next to a princess- as regal and elegant as they get. 

“You’re always upset when I come by,” San said, and just like every other magic lesson, she smiled at the sound of his voice. 

She chuckled, all honey-voiced and petite. “It’s nothing. Just the flowers, that’s all.” 

“You.. don’t like them?” 

She bent and plucked a flower from the field, twirling it between the pads of two fingers. “They’re all over the place in Essetir,” she said. “And no, I don’t. My people equate them to unrequited love.”

San stared at her. “What are you talking about?” 

Sena sighed, a sad smile on her lips. “They bloom, and they die, never acknowledged.” She let go, watching the petals flutter back to the ground. “Love is beautiful, but fleeting, just like these flowers.” 

He had been putting those flowers in Wooyoung’s rooms since he first arrived. 

Funny. 

Sena laughed. “Don’t get all mopey, San. It’s just a saying,” she said. “And besides, these flowers are supposed to be seasonal. I’m surprised this field still blossoms.” 

She was right. The flowers had been untouched by winter, frozen in time, yet still dying and crawling back in an endless cycle. Even if it was just a saying, that fact made him feel a little bit better. 

“Well..” he began, scraping his brain for a new idea. “We’ve spent a few magic lessons here already. We could go somewhere else?” 

She nodded. “That sounds great.” 

“Oh!” San perked up. “You've only been in the castle, right? I can show you a bit more of Sinsu! And try some magic along the way, of course.” 

“Perfect.” 

San smiled, and they headed back, a new bounce in his step. He hadn’t been to the marketplace in a really long time, and he thought it would be fun to show Sena around. She walked beside him, and San turned them in the direction of the courtyard. It should be a clear path from there to the bustling streets. 

For a second, he considered getting a knight to come with them, or maybe even someone from Sena’s delegation. Sena was a princess, after all. The only time Wooyoung went out alone was when he snuck out. Is that what they were doing now? Sneaking out? He glanced to his side, but nothing seemed amiss on Sena’s face. 

San didn’t have anything to worry about. 

Sena pulled the hood over her head as they passed the front gates, though, so maybe she  _ was _ technically sneaking out. The guards were more concerned with who came  _ in _ to the castle, not who was coming out. It was smooth. It was easy. San wondered what would happen if they were caught. 

“Where are we going, San?” she asked, and a touch of pride bloomed in his chest, knowing she trusted him enough to do this. 

“Sinsu’s marketplace! It’s amazing, but if you ever want to go back, just say the word. I know you may not be used to all the people.” 

She shook her head. “Go ahead; lead the way.” 

San grinned, and they began weaving around the path. He took her hand at one point, to keep her from pulling away. Losing the princess in the crowd sounded like a horror story. 

There wasn’t anything that particularly stood out in the lower villages, but something about it reminded San of Balor. It was homey. Familiar. It made him both happy and homesick at the same time. 

It was more crowded in Sinsu, though, especially as they drew closer to the marketplace. They began drawing stares as they walked by. People openly gawked at them, and San glanced back to make sure Sena was unrecognizable. And then it hit him. 

Oh. His hair. 

Damn, he should have found a cloak or a hat before coming here. 

He stumbled to an awkward stop, still holding her hand. “Do you think we could magic a hat out of thin air?” he mumbled. 

She giggled. “I don’t think so, but you did this to yourself.” 

He did do this to himself. 

“I hate that you’re right.” 

She shrugged. 

“Can’t we buy one? We’re in a  _ marketplace.”  _

San scanned their surrounds, looking for  _ anything _ that could hide his hair. Ahead, the stalls and vendors stretched out, people walking back and forth in a cycle of activity. His eyes zeroed in on a textile vendor. It was close, and probably their safest bet to not draw anymore attention. 

“Over there,” he pulled Sena in the general direction. A few people stopped and stared in his direction, and  _ god _ why was San so impulsive? He should have thought this out more. He hurried his steps, Sena dragging slightly behind him. 

“Here we are, then,” he smiled at the man behind the table, who gawped at him. Of course he did. San sighed. “I’m looking for anything to hide this.” He pointed at his head. 

Eventually, he and Sena were back in the streets, a dark headscarf wrapped around San’s hair. The back was still exposed, and a touch of pink crept out around his face, but it’ll have to do.

They wandered around, taking in all of the people and vendors. Sena bought a silver necklace and a ring, and while they probably couldn’t compare to the jewelry she already owned, the gesture made San smile. It quickly became obvious this would not be a productive outing. With all the people around, the opportunity to do magic was rare, and the pink hair already drew enough attention. 

They bought some fresh fruit for a snack and ducked into a secluded corner behind a building. It wasn’t warm out, but the constant walking took a toll on them, and they took a much needed break. 

Sena laughed. “It’s nice here, San. Thanks for taking me.” 

“Of course!” He took a quick bite out of an apple. “I love spending time down here. It’s great to get away from Wooyoung once in a while.” 

“That bad, huh?” 

He shrugged. “Not really. It’s just… hard to be around him lately.” 

She hummed. “You two are an interesting pair.”

You could say that. Yes, they were… a _pair._ It was him and Wooyoung against the world. It was San watching Wooyoung become a king from the shadows, a place for Wooyoung to come to after long days. 

_ Unrequited love.  _

His eyes cast down to the floor. “Yeah, I guess we are.” He wasn’t hungry anymore. 

She put a hand on his arm. _ “I’m sorry.” _

“For what?” 

She didn’t reply, and he tensed up. 

_ Did Sena know? _

“Things won’t end well for you and Wooyoung,” she said. “If you’re looking to be.. more than friends, I mean. No matter how hard you try, you’ll always be a servant, and he’ll always be a prince. And I’m truly,  _ very _ sorry.” 

He didn’t need her to say that. He already  _ knew. _

“Sinsu really is fucked up for that,” she said. “In Essetir, it’s different. We have different morals, different priorities. People are so… stuck up here.” She shook her head. “Yeah. I’m sorry.” 

“I-” San didn’t know what to say. 

_ ‘Things won’t end well for you and Wooyoung.’ _

His feet were lead, his mind numb to the faint chatter of the marketplace. He  _ knew _ this, but hearing it from someone else.. 

He needed to change the topic, to just.. forget. “There’s, uh, someone I wanted to find today,” he said. “She sold wooden carvings. I guess it was foolish of me to think she would still be here after all this time.” 

“You wanted me to meet her?” 

“I wanted to do magic for her.” 

A crease formed between Sena’s brows. “You’re too kind, San.” 

“You make kindness sound like a bad thing.” 

Sena smiled. “Sometimes it is.” She patted his shoulder. “Come on, we should start heading back.” She took his hand and led him away, pulling him back to the castle- back to washing floors and polishing armor. 

Back to Wooyoung. 

A pair of eyes caught them on their way out, trailing after the princess and the boy with the pretty pink hair. 

(。-`ω´-)

Wooyoung bit his lip as he pushed the door open. There was no reason to be nervous, but he couldn’t help it. He was finally going to spill his guts. 

“Yeosang?” he called out into the room. “Are you in here?” 

The King’s Ward lay stomach down on his bed. The quarters weren’t as extravagant as Wooyoung’s but it was nothing to scoff at. The room was spotless, unlike Wooyoung’s organized chaos, and the furniture was touched with silver instead of gold. Wooyoung scanned the room, looking for Seonghwa, but it didn’t seem like he was there.

“What do you want?” Yeosang groaned into his pillows. “I’m trying to sleep.” 

Wooyoung scrunched his nose. “I don’t understand how you can breath like that, let alone sleep.” 

“Magic, dipshit.” 

“Yeah, right.” 

Wooyoung walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. He picked at the covers and closed his eyes, listening to the crackling fire in the corner of the room. 

“Yeosang, I want to talk to you,” he said. “It’s serious.”

“You? Serious?” Yeosang rolled over onto his back. His hair stuck out in unnatural angles, and Wooyoung would have laughed if not for the pit of anxiety brewing in his gut. “Alright, go ahead.” 

Wooyoung bit his lip again. Bad habits never die. He looked away, throat tight as the words formed in his head. 

“I-” he swallowed. “I think I’m in love.” 

Yeosang didn’t say anything, and when Wooyoung turned back to look at him, he realized Yeosang was holding back a laugh, the corners of his mouth twitching up.

“What’s so funny?” Wooyoung hit the side of Yeosang’s leg. “Stop it! I’m having a crisis.” 

Yeosang gave in, his laugh bright despite the lower tones in his voice. “I think you’re the last person to know, except San, of course.” 

_ “What?”  _ Wooyoung stared at him. 

“I mean, that’s who it is, right? Unless this is some kind of half-baked confession,” Yeosang said. “And in that case, I must decline, because you’re obviously obsessed with San.” 

Wooyoung hit him again. 

“I am  _ not.” _

Yeosang raised his eyebrows, and Wooyoung sighed. “Maybe just a little bit.” 

“That’s right.” 

Wooyoung fell sideways and groaned into Yeosang’s sheets. “I can’t take this anymore!” he bemoaned. “He’s driving me insane.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Mphm. Guess where I saw him today?” 

“You see him every day, Wooyoung,” he answered with a shrug. 

“Yeah, but not like,  _ this,” _ Wooyoung said. “He was in the marketplace. With  _ Sena.  _ They  _ snuck out.” _

“Why were you in th-”

“Unimportant.” Wooyoung cut him off. “But they were holding  _ hands.” _

Wooyoung heard Yeosang snicker, and he buried himself further into Yeosang’s covers. “Jung Wooyoung, are you jealous?” 

A pout formed on his lips. As much as he wanted to deny it, he  _ was. _ Why didn’t San hold  _ his _ hand when they walked together? Actually, no, that was a stupid question. But sometimes, he could swear he  _ felt _ San’s palm against his, and every time he closed his fist around open air, it was a shock back to reality. It felt like San was falling through his fingers. 

“He… He’s getting really close with Sena,” he said. “I’m worried he’s going to hurt when she goes back to Essetir.” 

There was a small moment of silence as Yeosang thought over his answer. “I mean, he’ll probably miss her,” he said. “But if they are becoming friends, there’s no reason why she can’t just visit again in the future.” 

And then it came to him- the sudden realization that sucked the breath from his lungs, and he jerked back up. “You don’t.. You don’t think San will want to go  _ with _ her, right?” 

Yeosang stared at him. “Are you really  _ that  _ insecure?”

_ “Yes. _ He’s.. he’s been  _ off _ lately.” 

Yeosang blinked. “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be fine. Just let things play out.” 

“I don’t  _ want _ to let things play out,” Wooyoung groaned. “She’s had an eye on him ever since she showed up! And… and she’s really pretty, and nice, and probably  _ exactly _ San’s type. Letting things play out will only stab me in the foot!” he seethed. “And… she’s planting ideas in his head. The other day he threatened to turn me into a  _ toad.”  _

Yeosang cackled. “Wooyoung, I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” 

When he walked into the room, for some, odd reason, Wooyoung was under the impression Yeosang would have all the answers for him. 

Apparently not. 

“Sangie?” 

“Yes?” 

“How do you know  _ when _ you fell in love?” Wooyoung asked. “I.. I can’t figure out when it happened.” 

Yeosang answered with a sigh. “It’s different for everyone, Wooyoung,” he said. “But if it makes you feel better, I’m pretty sure you’ve been whipped since you first met.” 

That did not make him feel better. 

“Thanks,” he drawled, sarcasm in his voice. 

“You’re welcome!” Yeosang chirped. “Now, can I get my nap in? We can talk about this more later.” 

Wooyoung groaned. “But I need to rant about  _ San.”  _ He swung over and crawled across Yeosang to grab a pillow before whacking it against his friend. “Stop sleeping, and listen to me!”

Yeosang flipped back onto his stomach and ignored him. 

Well, this was going great. 

“At least help me figure out what to do,” Wooyoung said. “I don’t think I can  _ stop _ loving him. He’s too… He’s  _ San.”  _

Yeosang’s voice was muffled again. “Seonghwa’s good with this stuff. Go talk to him instead.” 

“What do you mean,  _ ‘this stuff?’”  _ Wooyoung wrinkled his nose.

“Being a sap.” 

“I’m not a sap.” 

“Do you hear yourself right now?” 

Wooyoung hit him with the pillow again. 

“Better yet, why don’t you— I don’t know— talk to  _ San _ about this? I’m sure you’ll find you have a lot in common.” Yeosang said. 

“I hate you.” 

“Good.” 

Wooyoung smiled. 

.

Yes, Wooyoung had visited the marketplace. 

Was it a good idea? 

No.

Did he buy something nice for San? 

…Yes. 

Wooyoung found him in the library. That alone was quite strange; San was never the scholarly type (although, he did write one or two of Wooyoung’s speeches). His pink hair stood out among the dull colors of the room. Wooyoung must admit: the library was grand. It was beautiful. But he wished it was more than browns and varying shades of other murky colors. Even the lanterns above were pretty drab. 

San’s nose was buried in a book, a piece of parchment to his side and a quill scratching mercilessly as he wrote. He didn’t even look up when Wooyoung drew close. Wooyoung must really be going insane. San  _ hated  _ reading.

He leaned over San’s shoulder, holding his breath. 

“Boo.” 

San wrenched back with a yelp, and the back of his head knocked hard against Wooyoung’s forehead. 

Ouch. 

That hurt. He reached up and rubbed against the pain with a pout. 

“Wooyoung!” On the parchment, there was a dark line of ink across San’s chaotic handwriting. Wooyoung would feel guilty if not for his throbbing forehead. 

“Scared of ghosts?” 

San scoffed. “When they sneak up on me like  _ that, _ yes.” 

A grin spread on Wooyoung’s face, and he ruffled San’s hair, who began sulking.. 

“You’re cute,” Wooyoung said. 

“And you’re an  _ ass.”  _

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow. “How long are you going to keep saying that?” 

“Until you stop being one.” 

_ God, I love you. _

“Okay… what are you doing, then?” Wooyoung asked. 

“Sena is letting me borrow one of her magic books for a day,” San shrugged. “We didn’t get much done in the lesson, so here I am.” 

Wooyoung bit back a sharp retort. He didn’t want San to know he saw them in the marketplace, but they definitely did  _ not _ have a ‘magic lesson’ today. 

He peeked over at the book. It had a navy cover, and the bindings were falling apart. The pages were so fragile that Wooyoung wondered how they weren’t disintegrating under San’s fingers. It looked ancient. Wooyoung vaguely remembered it tucked under Sena’s arm at the field. 

“She really let you borrow that? It looks valuable,” Wooyoung said. “Be careful with it.” 

San rolled his eyes. “It’s perfectly safe with me. Plus, it’s only for a day.”

“Alright then.” Wooyoung pulled a chair back and sat next to San at the table. “Find anything interesting?” 

“Not yet. I’m still looking through the simpler spells,” San said. “I need to learn the incantations. When I try to do non-verbal magic, things go crazy about half of the time.” 

“That sounds like fun.” 

San hummed in response. He looked away, a hand scratching idly at the back of his head. “So… why are _ you _ here? I can’t imagine it’s just to break my concentration.” 

Wooyoung leaned back and stretched his arms up with a yawn. “I don’t know, I guess you could say I missed your company,” he said. “And I got you something from the market.” 

That got his attention. Wide eyes bored into him, mouth forming a small ‘o.’ 

“You bought  _ me _ something?” San grinned. “Is this bribery? What do you want from me?” 

Wooyoung wanted a lot of things from San. 

“Nothing! I was.. I was just passing through and saw it.” 

San raised a brow, a smile playing on his lips. “Okay then, what did the  _ crown prince _ of Sinsu decide to buy me?” 

Here goes nothing. Wooyoung had this planned since he got back. Years of studying battlefield strategy did  _ nothing _ to help. But god dammit, seeing Sena hold San’s hand made  _ Wooyoung  _ want to hold his hand, and now here he was. 

“Close your eyes,” he said, and San followed suit. 

San still held the quill between his fingers, so Wooyoung gently pulled it away and took the back of his hand, pulling it a little closer. 

“No peeking.” 

San’s cheeks went pink as Wooyoung took out a bracelet and hooked it around his wrist. It was simple, but it reminded him of San. Wooyoung let his fingers lace through his, and thankfully, San didn’t question it. 

“Done,” Wooyoung said. “You can open now.” 

He smiled as San blinked his eyes open, tightening his grip ever so slightly. A leather band circled San’s wrist, held together by a small charm— a blue flower. He didn’t lie: he  _ did _ see the bracelet as he was passing by. He immediately knew it was perfect. 

San didn’t have many material items, but Wooyoung hoped he would keep this one close. 

He waited with bated breath for a reaction. San was staring down, eyes flicking back and forth between the bracelet and their intertwined fingers. His lips parted, and a new idea crept into Wooyoung’s head- a terrible,  _ terrible  _ idea. 

“It’s nice,” San said, the corners of his mouth quirking up. “Thank you.” 

Wooyoung beamed, and that bad idea stewed in his head until it was impossible to ignore. San had given him the  _ perfect  _ opportunity, and- 

Fuck it. 

He let go of San’s hand, momentarily mourning the loss before grabbing it from below. Wooyoung met San’s gaze then, heart stopping as he gently pulled San’s hand to his lips.

“It was my pleasure.” 

Hopefully, San wouldn’t know the gravity of what Wooyoung had just done.

. 

That night, San didn’t come to Wooyoung’s chambers. 

Instead, Wooyoung found Seonghwa at his door, and he immediately started spiraling. 

He crossed a line.  _ The  _ line. That’s why San wasn’t there. Oh  _ god. _ Did he make San uncomfortable? Is that why he didn’t come tonight, of all nights to take off? Wooyoung had to be overthinking this, right? 

He didn’t regret it. 

No, San’s bashful state was enough to fuel Wooyoung’s happiness for the next week at  _ least.  _ Not only that, but he realized he needed to get his priorities straight. Their banter was fun, but nothing could compare to a flustered San. Wooyoung was already thinking of ways to replace insults with thinly veiled compliments. 

Yeosang had advised him to talk about his feelings (ew) with Seonghwa, but Wooyoung decided not to say anything. He had himself figured out already: He was in love with San; San and Sena may or may not have a thing going on; Wooyoung constantly wanted to throw her out of the castle, but then she’d turn around and be so  _ nice. _

She was  _ too _ nice.  _ Suspiciously _ nice. 

Wooyoung couldn’t  _ hate _ her the way he wanted to. They even had a nice conversation about the properties of armor the other day, of which she was strangely knowledgeable about. He may have learned a thing or two. 

Sena would look so badass in armor. Great- another thing to be jealous of. 

“What a surprise,” Seonghwa said. “I’m doing San’s job again.” 

Wooyoung sighed. “Where is he?” 

“With Sena. They’re testing if the time of day has any effect on magic.” 

Why wasn’t he surprised? 

“Let’s get this over with, then.” 

Wooyoung could tell this would be a long night, and his thoughts were going to keep him restless through the early morning hours. Seonghwa worked through his room quickly, unlike San, who would usually linger to talk or meander aimlessly as en excuse to stay. Wooyoung didn’t know if he wanted Seonghwa to stay longer or not, but it didn’t seem like he had much of a choice. 

Before he knew it, he was stuck in his head, alone in his room, and lying on his back. San was probably still out with Sena making things fly or exploding something in the castle. 

Magic was weird to him. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to it. It was like one day, you think you know how the universe works, and the next, magic comes along and flips everything on its head. It was a scary thing to think about. Not only did they know almost nothing about it, but the possibilities were  _ endless. _ Once it becomes more widespread, Beomseok will need to rewrite some laws and figure out how to keep it contained. 

Could you even contain magic? Was that the right thing to do? Wooyoung thought so— after all, magic was going to fall into the wrong hands eventually. It could be used as a weapon just as easily as a sword could. It may even be more practical. 

Wooyoung’s head hurt. 

At least San had  _ something _ to defend himself with now. Wooyoung didn’t think he could use a sword or a crossbow, but magic could do the job. That extra security was worth letting him spend so much time with Sena. It gave Wooyoung a little peace of mind. 

Maybe  _ he  _ could try magic. Wooyoung didn’t think he had it in himself, but he could  _ try.  _ It’d be a good excuse to keep San closer, or to watch how he and the princess acted around each other. 

He was thinking too much again. He needed to slip away, to forget all of this for a few hours and let himself rest. 

He tried, but he was right— it was a sleepless night. 

Wooyoung woke up to bright pink and a sunny smile. He breathed a sigh of relief. 

“You didn’t show up last night,” Wooyoung said. 

San was leaning over him, dimples peeking through. Wooyoung blinked up at him with a slow swallow and shifted the covers higher. 

“Ah, sorry, I was with Sena,” San said. “She finally showed me how to do her fire trick. It’s fun.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

San pulled Wooyoung up to his feet, and he shivered against the cool air, skin prickling at San’s touch. No matter how many times San woke him up like this, Wooyoung would never get used to it. 

His servant walked to the wardrobe and shuffled through the clothes. Wooyoung could barely register all the words coming out of San’s mouth. It was all  _ Sena this, Sena that. _ If Wooyoung had to hear her name one more time, he was going to tear his ears off.  __

“San..” Wooyoung started. He walked up and tapped San’s shoulder. “I was thinking maybe.. you should spend a little less time with the princess.” 

“What? Why?” San whipped around to face him.

Wooyoung shifted on his feet. “There’s something off about her, San, and I can’t put my finger on it,” he said. “She’s either fancies you or she’s using you for her own gain. I just  _ know _ it.” 

“Wooyoung, she’s a friend, just like you are too. We’re fine. You don’t have to worry.” 

He did  _ not _ want San to lump him in with Sena. Wasn’t their friendship stronger than that? She had only been here for a little over a  _ week.  _

“Well,” Wooyoung scoffed. “She obviously doesn’t  _ want _ to be your friend.”

“What?”

“Do you know what she said before she healed you?” he asked. “She said you were  _ pretty. _ She had ulterior motives before you even opened your eyes!” 

San’s eyes narrowed, and Wooyoung could  _ feel _ his gaze burning against his skin. “Wooyoung,  _ you’ve _ called me pretty before.” 

He did? Wooyoung didn’t remember. The voices in his head and the things he actually said out loud blurred together in one big, pining mess. But right now, he could feel anger, the resentment building up, and some twisted, dark feeling buried itself into him. 

_ “I’m _ different. I don’t.. I actually  _ know _ you. And as your friend, I-” Wooyoung seethed. “Are you always this clueless when someone wants to get into your pants?”

San furrowed his brow. “Wooyoung, I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“You and Sena!”

San stared at him, his eyes picking him apart piece by piece. The room was quiet. Wooyoung could almost see the gears turning in San’s head.

“Wait, are you..  _ jealous?” _ San asked. Mortification slowly painted across his face, and Wooyoung froze. 

_ He knew.  _

Wooyoung saw the look on San’s face, and he wished he could rewind time. He wished he kept his stupid mouth shut because now San  _ knew. _

“Jealous? No. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Wooyoung mumbled. He didn’t trust his voice right now. “I’m not.” 

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” San laughed, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I could ask Sena to spend more time with you if you want.” 

Sena? Wooyoung spluttered, “You think.. You think I’m jealous of  _ you _ ?” He caught himself, carefully setting his expression back to a stony mask.

“I mean…” San’s gaze shifted to the small vase in the corner of the room, eyes slightly glazed over. “You ended up  _ wanting _ to marry her, didn’t you?” 

Wooyoung almost laughed. “I couldn’t care less what she does. All I asked was for you to keep your distance,” he said. “You’re going to get too..  _ attached _ .” 

“Wooyoung, for fuck’s sake,” San shut his mouth and tilted his head to the ceiling, closing his eyes. His whole body moved with his heavy breaths, fists clenched. Wooyoung didn’t think he had ever seen San this.. held back.  _ Angry,  _ almost. “I can’t.. I  _ can’t _ like her.. like that,” San seethed. “God, how long have you known me? I prefer men, you  _ dumbass _ .” 

_ Oh. _

Wooyoung’s world was falling apart again

Water slowly dampened his clothes, and a peasant with a pretty face sprawled across his feet. Snow whipped past his face on a trip to a fake life, where cuddles soothed the sting of unwanted obligations. And then there was a face in front of him, twisted in pain and shock, red blooming on his clothes. Pink hair fanned against blue flowers, lips only centimeters away. It all flashed by in an instant. 

‘ _ I prefer men.’  _

Could he-? 

“S- _ San- _ ” Wooyoung stepped forward and reached a hand out. 

“ _ No. _ Young-ah...  _ don’t touch me.” _ There were tears pooling in San’s eyes, his pretty, pretty eyes, and his lips were trembling. Wooyoung was empty, cold. He wanted to pull the boy into his arms. And then the tears trickled past San’s eyes, lining his cheeks, and Wooyoung would do anything to make it stop. 

San dropped his gaze down to the floor. “I’m sorry, I- I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I’m… I’m so  _ tired _ , and  _ you-”  _ he choked on his words, fighting to take deep breaths.  _ “Wooyoung, you-  _ you’re a prince, and- _ ”  _ San shook his head. “You may like Sena now, but one day, you’re going to fall in love.”

Wooyoung’s eyes widened, and his heart shot to his throat. He was drowning, air long gone and water pooling in his lungs. 

_ I already am.  _

San’s breath caught in his throat, and the words were in his mouth, spilling into the space between them. “You’ll fall in love, and for once in your life, you’ll realize _ you can’t get everything you want,” _ he gasped out. 

_...Oh.  _

His own tears dropped then. Wooyoung didn’t even notice they were there. 

As cliche as it felt, his heart broke. It creaked open little by little as the words sunk in, San’s voice echoing in his ears. 

Because it was true.

And from the way San was acting, someone must have broken  _ his _ too. 

That hurt the most. 

“I already know that.” Wooyoung’s voice cracked. “San, are you in love with someone? Is that why..?” 

_ Is that why you’re crying now? Is it someone from Balor? Is that why you came to Sinsu? To run away?  _

Wooyoung searched his memory of Balor for a recurring face: Someone handsome. Someone kind, or caring. Someone San  _ deserved _ . Someone  _ better _ than Wooyoung. But no matter how hard he thought, no face or name came to mind. That didn’t mean this mystery man didn’t exist. San was proof of that, in front of him. 

San hid his face in the crook of his elbow, only the top of his head visible now. “I’m so sorry,” he whimpered. “I really don’t know why I.. I swear I was fine a few minutes ago, but I suddenly..” He sobbed into his arm. “I didn’t mean to say that.” 

_ He didn’t deny it.  _

No… 

_ Plea- _

He choked up because  _ of course _ San was in love with someone. Wooyoung’s muddy world had only grown brighter since meeting him, but San had  _ always been  _ that way. He tried to smile, but it wavered, suspended in a grief Wooyoung didn’t know existed inside him until now. 

He gently put a hand on San’s forearm, pulling him closer. 

And then San was in his arms, his nose against Wooyoung’s neck. Damp cheeks pressed into his skin, and Wooyoung held on tighter. He pushed his own feelings away. He needed to focus on San right now. “It’s okay, I should be the one saying sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t know you were hurting this much.” 

“Me neither.” 

Wooyoung closed his eyes, his face tensing up. “Who… Who is it?” Even that simple question hurt like a stab to the side.

San didn’t answer. 

“I’m not going to pressure you to tell me, but.. you can if you want to,” Wooyoung sniffed. “I’ll put him in the stocks for you.” 

_ And I’ll get a few throws in myself. _

San laughed, broken and wet. “Thanks for that mental image. I’m sure he’d love getting pelted with fruit.” 

“I’m being serious.” 

San hiccuped. “I’ll.. I’ll hold you to that.” 

Wooyoung let himself cave in, pressing his head closer to San’s shoulder. He was indulging himself, he knew, and guilt gnawed at him as he pulled San closer, tighter. He felt San’s hands flat against his back, and he sighed. 

It would be so easy to give in, to lean close to San’s ear and mumble a quick  _ ‘I love you,’ _ but then San’s shoulders were shaking and Wooyoung’s heart hurt again. 

“I really am sorry,” San said. “I guess it’s been building up for a while, but… but I shouldn’t be taking it out on  _ you _ . You have… more important things to worry about.” 

Wooyoung let a hand creep up and bury itself in San’s hair, lightly pulling in what he hoped was a soothing gesture. “Think of it like this,” he said. “A prince should listen and care for his people. You’re always doing that for  _ me,  _ so let me do  _ my _ job for once.” He walked them back to the bed, sitting at the edge, and San pulled away to sit next to him, shoulders hunched. San leaned forward, elbows on his knees and hands clasped at the back of his neck, head tucked down. “Tell me about him,” Wooyoung said.

San was silent for a moment, and for a second, Wooyoung thought he wouldn’t answer. He didn’t know if he  _ wanted _ San to answer. He didn’t know if he wanted to hear about the man who could have had everything Wooyoung longed for. 

“He..” San spoke up. “He doesn’t love me back.”

Wooyoung closed his eyes, and if his own tears silently fell, then San didn’t have to know. How could anyone not love San? He was… he was  _ San. _ As much as he hated it, Wooyoung knew the words coming out of San’s mouth had to be bullshit. 

“How can you be sure?” Wooyoung asked, proud of how steady his voice came out.. 

“I don’t think he’s interested in.. men,” San said. “And he.. he  _ can’t,  _ and  _ I-”  _ He paused for a second. “I just love him so much, and it hurts.” 

Wooyoung knew exactly how San felt, except now it was  _ worse  _ because  _ San liked men,  _ and Wooyoung still wasn’t good enough. Even now, he could feel his heart twist, and San was right. It  _ hurt.  _

“Is he in Balor? Sinsu?” 

“I’m not telling you that.” 

“Okay,” Wooyoung whispered. “That’s okay.” They settled into silence, 

San suddenly stood up, and Wooyoung jumped a little. “Can you… Can I send Seonghwa up for the rest of my duties this morning? I don’t… I don’t think I can...” San hiccupped through the words. 

_ Wait.  _

“Are you leaving now? I can  _ help.”  _

“No, you can’t.” 

There was no way Wooyoung was letting San leave in this state. He grabbed San’s arm and pulled him back to the bed. It was easy, like there was no fight left in him to struggle.

“Lie down,” Wooyoung ordered.

“W-what?” 

“I know it’s early, but take a nap. You’ll feel better.” 

Teary eyes met his, and Wooyoung’s heart broke for the hundredth time. 

“You want me to sleep  _ here?” _ San asked, and Wooyoung nodded. 

“Lie down.” 

He pulled back the top of the covers, and San hesitated before crawling over and collapsing, head falling back against Wooyoung’s pillows. San curled into himself, and Wooyoung let himself indulge in the sight before wrapping the blankets around his servant. 

“Stay as long as you want,” he said. 

San nodded.

Wooyoung went to the door and asked the guards to fetch Seonghwa. 

.

Seonghwa was a lifesaver. 

Not too long after he showed up, the King requested Wooyoung’s presence in the throne room, like Wooyoung didn’t already have enough going through his head. 

Seonghwa had walked into Wooyoung’s rooms with a irritated huff, but after seeing the top of San’s head peeking out from under the covers, he only raised a curious brow. Wooyoung shook his head, and the matter was closed. Seonghwa didn’t ask questions, and Wooyoung was grateful for his silence. 

Which brought him to the throne room.

Wooyoung remembered the last time he walked through those doors, and he internally cringed. At least, courtesy of Seonghwa, he looked decent this time, and he wasn’t tracking dirt on the floor. 

The guards had doubled over the past few weeks, and Wooyoung had to walk past more than a dozen pairs of eyes on the way there. 

Just like last time, they announced his name, and the doors pushed forward only to slam shut once he walked in. 

Wooyoung prepared himself for the worst. 

His father was looking out the window, leaning his side against the wall. There was a contemplative gleam in his eyes. He didn’t seem stiff or hostile, even, like the last time. Just from walking in, Beomseok already felt more like the man Wooyoung grew up under than the one he knew now. 

Besides him, the room was already empty. 

The King turned his head. “Wooyoung.” 

Wooyoung knelt down on a knee, glancing up. “You asked for me, father?” 

His nerves settled then, looking up at Beomseok. He had only spoken a word, but the King felt so different from before. He almost seemed grave, or no, a better word would be  _ peaceful. _ The aggressive lines on his face were gone. 

Wooyoung stood and waited. 

The King turned fully towards him and leaned back against the wall, the throne sitting empty in front of him. “I’ve had some time to think,” he said. “About our kingdom, and about you.” 

_ Our? _

“It’s rare for a king to utter these words, but as your father, I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry this arrangement didn’t work out. I do believe you two would have been phenomenal together.” 

Oh. He was talking about the marriage. Wooyoung stared at him. “Father, with all do respect, I don’t think that’s true. Sena and I aren’t very.. compatible.” 

The King sighed. “I met your mother on the steps of this castle, as you did with Sena,” he said, a small smile on his face as he looked back out the window. “I was just as stubborn as you are, but our marriage was the best thing to ever happen to me.” 

Wooyoung didn’t know much about his mother. Beomseok never talked about her, and there wasn’t a lot of information written about her. All he knew was that she died in childbirth, and a few people in the castle spoke fondly of her. They never went into detail, though. 

“She gave me you, and she gave me much needed companionship through… difficult times,” Beomseok didn’t wait for Wooyoung’s thoughts to catch up before continuing. “You  _ will _ need someone, Wooyoung. It’s not easy to rule alone. Impossible, even.” 

The question was on the tip of his tongue. He had asked it before, when he was little, but the only reply he got was silence and a cold shoulder. 

“What was she like?” he asked, gulping down his expectations. 

But this time, it seemed like Beomseok was ready for it. “She was fierce. Smart. I lost many games of chess to her,” he said. “And she was kind. You have her heart.” 

Wooyoung dropped his gaze, feeling a small loss for someone he never met. 

The room was silent now, but Wooyoung didn’t find it uncomfortable as he gathered his thoughts. This conversation didn’t feel…  _ real.  _ He had walked in expecting a verbal beating, and instead he was getting information he knew he would hold close with him forever. 

When he was little, he liked to think his mother would be kind, that she would smile and take care of him if she were alive, or maybe she _was_ taking care of him from wherever death takes you in the end. Beomseok’s simple words felt oddly like a confirmation of that. 

“It’s the serving boy, isn’t it?” Beomseok’s mouth was a thin line. “The one who walks around my castle with pink hair.” 

_ What? _

Wooyoung stared at him again, and he could feel the blood roaring in his ears. “What do you mean?” he asked. Because,  _ yes,  _ he needed Beomseok to clarifying what exactly he was asking. 

The King stumbled forward and sat on the throne, eyes narrowed in thought. Wooyoung waited with baited breath for his reply. 

“I’d order you to cut him out of your life, but I know you won’t listen to me,” Beomseok said. “So instead… I’ll tell you something else.” He paused, chest heaving with a harsh breath. “Cherish him while he’s still in your life, Wooyoung. People don’t stay forever.” 

Wooyoung’s mouth fell open. He took a second to process the words, to fully understand what his father had just said. That was the closest thing he’ll ever get to a blessing, but it was enough. San was a man. San was a servant. And still,  _ his father said…  _

_ This had to be a dream.  _

“You’re a good son, Wooyoung,” Beomseok said. “My greatest pride, even when you make childish mistakes.” 

Wooyoung swallowed back a noise of surprise, a small smile touching his lips. “Thank you.” It came out in a whisper. 

“When you grow older, you’ll make a fine king,” Beomseok said, and Wooyoung’s heart swelled. “Sometimes, I wish I could tell you that more often.” 

When you cry in the morning, the tears carry with you through the rest of the day. They sit there, right behind your eyes with the smallest hint of pressure, and Wooyoung could feel them gathering still, threatening to spill. 

Wooyoung never cried this easily. He had gone entire years without a single tear touching his cheek. It was like San unlocked something in him. Something about him made the dam break, and hearing those words had the same effect on him. 

He blinked and kept it in. 

Beomseok visibly swallowed. “The Essetirians are planning something within our walls, Wooyoung,” he said. “Without the marriage, these peace talks are going to end in war.” 

Wooyoung took a deep breath. “Do you want me to ready the knights?” 

“No, it hasn’t come to that yet,” he said. “Sungho’s delegation is leaving Sinsu in two days now, Wooyoung. However, Sena has requested to stay and work with our scholars.” 

“Is that a problem?” 

Beomseok paused. “It depends. Do you think one person can topple a kingdom?” 

“If used correctly,” Wooyoung said, thinking over each word. “But Sena is fine. She’s smart, but she’s warm-hearted. She’s… a friend.” 

Beomseok shook his head. “She’s the enemy now, Wooyoung. Don’t forget.” 

_ Sena… an enemy. _

“Do you really believe we’re going to war?” 

“If they don’t want the marriage, then  _ why are they in my castle?”  _ Beomseok thundered. “They came for information. They came to see if  _ we _ had magic too, and now they’re leaving behind their trump card to deal some damage on their way out.” He grit his teeth. “It’s what  _ I _ would do in their position.”

“Oh.” 

“They played me like a fool, all because  _ I _ wanted to find you a good wife,” he said. “I made a mistake, Wooyoung.” He leaned to the side and coughed into his arm. “Sixty years ago, the Essetirians ordered the assassination of my uncle. I had hoped it would stop there, but it seems they’ve developed a taste for Sinsu blood.” 

“It could be worse,” Wooyoung said. “They’re leaving Sena behind. That means,—if it comes to it—we could hold her in the castle and keep her magic away from the battlefield.” 

Beomseok considered this, jaw tensing up until he gave in and nodded. “Keep guards around her chambers,” he said. “And I want either you or a knight to have an eye on her at all times when she’s walking free. At the  _ first  _ sign she’s up to something, secure her in the dungeons until we figure out their plan.” 

Wooyoung nodded. He felt a new kind of adrenaline then. 

Did the Essetirians really use peace talks as a guise to brew war? Is that why Sena was never too concerned about the marriage? All of this made Wooyoung’s head spin. Thankfully, he wouldn’t have to worry about managing this on his own for another decade or two.. or three. He’ll hopefully be well versed in all things political by then. He still had time. 

  
  


San wasn’t in Wooyoung’s rooms when he walked back in. That was okay. Wooyoung had enough to think about. 

The day passed quickly, and eventually, the sky began to darken with no sight of San. Wooyoung expected Seonghwa to knock on his door again when he heard footsteps shuffling outside, but it pushed open instead, silent. 

Well, fuck. 

Wooyoung was at his desk, looking over old reports. San stood awkwardly in the doorway, a hand on the back of his neck.

“I’m sorry for earlier,” he mumbled. “And… thank you. I guess I was a little overwhelmed.” San chuckled. 

Wooyoung smiled. “It’s okay. How was you nap?” 

San shifted on his feet, glancing to the side. “It was… nice,” he said. “I think that’s the softest bed I’ve ever slept in.” 

“I’m the  _ prince. _ Of course it’s nice.” Wooyoung felt their usual dynamic already slowly returning, and he slumped back a little. “How do you feel?” 

“Better.” 

That’s good. Wooyoung didn’t think he could  _ ever  _ stand seeing San cry like that again. It fucking hurt. 

He smiled, or, he  _ tried _ to. San could probably see right through it. “Thank god.” At least the relief was genuine. 

San walked over to the desk, glancing over the papers. “What are you working on?” 

It was nothing, really. Wooyoung just needed to take his mind off things, to make himself feel productive. He shrugged. “I don’t know. I wanted to... to  _ do  _ something.” 

San hummed. He looked over at the dining table and the empty plates on top. “Did you already eat?” 

“Yeah.” San didn’t bring his meal in that evening. It was one of the servants that never smiled. Wooyoung tried cracking a joke, but it seemed his sense of humor needed some work. “Just need to go to bed now,” he said with a yawn. San nodded and crept around him, pulling at the hem of Wooyoung’s shirt. 

“Do you want me to stick around?” 

Over the months, that had become code for ‘do you want me to stay in the room until you fall asleep?’ 

No. Wooyoung had a better idea. 

And so far, his plans had been going  _ great. _

“Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to stay the night. To sleep,” Wooyoung raised a brow and tilted his head back to look up at San. “I mean, since you liked the bed..” 

He could see San’s brain malfunction at his words, fingers stilling at his shirt. “I thought we already said it’s a bad idea,” he spoke slowly. 

_ “You _ said it was a bad idea. I didn’t get a say.” 

San chewed on the inside of his mouth. “But your dad-”

“Already knows we’re close friends. As does the entire castle at this point,” Wooyoung said. “Are you really going to make me say it?” 

“Say what?” 

He sighed. “I miss the cuddles.” He brought his chin down, not wanting to see San’s reaction. He was sulking now, a pout on his lips.

San finally pulled up on Wooyoung’s shirt. He lifted his arms to let it come off smoothly. And then there was a heavy hand on Wooyoung’s shoulder, warmth bleeding into his skin. “Is this an order?” San asked. 

“More like an invitation.” 

They settled into silence, and Wooyoung’s eyes slipped shut when it became apparent San wasn’t going to take him up on the offer. It was a stupid plan, really. The hand holding thing may have worked, but tempting San with a soft bed was a little too far fetched. He’ll have to think of something new.

“Okay.” 

Wooyoung’s eyes whipped open. 

Here lies Jung Wooyoung: death by his own scheming. 

San pat his back. “Go lie down. I’ll be there in a second.” 

Shit. 

Wooyoung stumbled to his feet and didn’t dare looking behind him until he was on the bed. San was puttering around the room, collecting things off the floor and extinguishing candles as he went. Soon, the room was bathed in darkness and Wooyoung’s thudding heartbeat. 

San slipped in beside him, and Wooyoung contemplated  _ why _ he was doing this to himself. San made it  _ very _ clear he was interested, if not in  _ love _ with some mystery person, so why the hell had Wooyoung just coaxed him to cuddle? 

He stared at the ceiling, hyper aware of San’s movement next to him. Wooyoung had planned for this to happen, yes, but he didn’t actually think it  _ would.  _

“Why do you keep your room so fucking  _ warm?”  _ San sat up, startling Wooyoung for a moment, and shrugged his own shirt off, letting it fall to the ground. Wooyoung turned away, on his side, and gulped. That was a lot of skin to process right now.

_ “You’re _ the one who keeps the fireplace lit all the time,” Wooyoung said. He felt a sharp jab against his back, and he winced. San’s hand smoothed over it before turning Wooyoung back around to face him. 

“I thought you wanted to cuddle?” 

Whew. Hearing it in San’s voice _ did things _ to him.

San pulled him a little closer, and Wooyoung was going to  _ die.  _ Right then and there. 

It was an entirely new experience when you know you’re in love. 

San was his safe place, legs tangled together and arms wrapped tentatively around his waist. He was back in Balor, the aroma of warmth and security enveloping him.

Dammit, he wanted to cry again. 

Wooyoung was getting used to the dark, so he indulged himself. He stared straight ahead, eyes lingering on the discolored patch of skin on San’s chest- a reminder of how close he had been to loosing him. He splayed a hand against it, hiding it from view. 

San brought an arm between them and cupped the bottom of Wooyoung’s chin. His attention shot up at the touch. San’s features were blurred by the dark, but his eyes were bright. They were always bright. 

Soft lips pressed against his cheek, and Wooyoung held his breath. 

“Payback for what you pulled in the library,” San mumbled, his eyes slipping closed. He pulled Wooyoung tighter against him, tucking his chin over Wooyoung’s hair. 

If Wooyoung died earlier, he was ascending now. 

“Goodnight, Young-ah,” San said, and Wooyoung’s heart  _ twisted. _

Lately, Wooyoung wondered what it would be like—what it would  _ feel _ like—to be loved by San, to be  _ his. _ And now, he thought, it would feel a lot like  _ this. _

. 

Everything happened as Beomseok said it would. King Sungho and the Essetirian delegation left Sinsu, leaving behind Sena to study with the scholars. Wooyoung doubled her guard. 

Other than that, the days passed without incident. 

The only significant change was with San. 

He still went off with Sena doing god knows what every day, but now, he had practically moved in. After the first cuddle night, there was no way Wooyoung was going to let San pretend it never happened. Nope. He wanted it to become a daily thing- part of the routine. 

And it did. 

Mornings were different now. San woke him with hands pressed against his cheek or wrapped around his torso. Once, Wooyoung had woken first, and he was blessed with the task of waking  _ San _ up first. It was disgustingly cheesy, but Wooyoung couldn’t control the way his stomach flipped over that. 

Wooyoung began to question the existence of ‘Mystery Man™.’ After all, San never said it  _ wasn’t _ Wooyoung, right? A small hope began growing, and paired along with the conversation he had with his father, things were beginning to look up for him. 

Could it really be Wooyoung? If it was, then  _ he _ was the reason San broke down earlier. That knowledge would haunt him for a very long time if it was true. 

But the benefits. Oh, the sweet benefits. 

Sena had requested for them to dine together, San included. It didn’t seem..  _ suspicious,  _ but Wooyoung dreaded it. They were a strange trio, and Wooyoung imagined it would be full of tense silence and stilted conversations. 

But to his surprise, the dinner was going well. It wasn’t as awkward as Wooyoung thought it’d be, and he found himself actually enjoying it. He got to spend more time with San, and they had never  _ dined _ together outside of Balor. It was nice. Sena and San were sitting side by side and across from Wooyoung. 

Sena wasn’t talking. Maybe that’s why Wooyoung felt so relaxed. 

Wooyoung found himself on his second glass of wine, laughing at something San had just said. He knew he was beaming across the table, but it’s not like he had anything to hide. Sena already knew he and San were close. Even his  _ father _ knew, and the King only really lived in his chambers, the throne room, the council rooms, and occasionally the great hall. 

Someday, Wooyoung will have to adopt that lifestyle too. It’s funny, how the more power you have, the smaller your world becomes. 

He pushed his empty plate away, replacing it with his elbows on the table. He wouldn’t call himself a lightweight, but the wine felt especially potent tonight. He rested his chin on his hands and let himself get lost. 

San’s cheeks were flushed, and his hair stuck up in odd angles. His glass was almost empty, hands fidgeting against the table. Sena had barely touched her drink, Wooyoung noticed. She probably thought they were idiots. She was definitely sober while he and San teetered on the edge of drunk. 

It was  _ very _ tempting to ask her to leave. Drunk cuddling sounded fun. Maybe San would kiss his cheek again. 

He felt warm and slightly fuzzy, the slight buzz of the alcohol taking away the negative thoughts. In hindsight, he probably should have noticed the way Sena was acting and the regret she didn’t even try to hide on her face. 

They were having a nice conversation about Seonghwa’s obsession with cats when San suddenly froze. Beside him, Sena flinched and closed her eyes. 

Wooyoung watched with curiosity as San’s pupils blew wide and his mouth dropped open, a small whimper falling from his lips. If his mind wasn’t so clouded, Wooyoung would probably be up on his feet and panicking at the sound he just made. How could such a small noise sound so pained? 

“I’m sorry, I just.. I realized how pretty your eyes are,” he heard San say. 

Wooyoung blinked. San wasn’t looking at him anymore. No.. He was turned towards  _ Sena.  _

_ What?  _

Sena wasn’t meeting either of their eyes, a weak grimace on her face. And  _ finally _ the alarm went off in Wooyoung’s head.

_ Something’s wrong. _

“Can I…?” San gently took her chin in his hand with a smile. Time slowed down, and Wooyoung’s breath caught in his throat. 

His world stopped turning when San leaned forward. 

San was kissing her. 

Wooyoung looked down, his chair scraping harshly against the floor as he jerked away.

He swallowed, biting his lip and pushing down what suspiciously felt like a sob building in his throat. If he broke down crying now, San would never let him hear the end of it, but Wooyoung was going to be sick. 

_ Why _ ?

His chest tightened, and he let out a slow breath. . 

He thought… after the past few days, he thought he had a  _ chance _ . There was a small part of him that really believed…

_ ‘I prefer men.’ _

Well, so much for that, now. 

San muttered something onto her lips, and Wooyoung felt something dark twist in him, an iron grip on his heart. He wanted to pour acid over his ears, over his  _ eyes,  _ like that would rid the image from his head and force the sound from his memory. 

_ ‘You’ll fall in love, and for once in your life, you’ll realize you can’t get everything you want.’ _

God, if only he knew. If only he  _ fucking knew. _

They weren’t stopping. Wooyoung needed them to stop. He needed San to  _ stop _ . He needed— 

“ _ San _ ,” Wooyoung managed to choke out. His voice was hoarse, just as strangled as he felt inside. 

San’s head snapped up, as if breaking out of a trance. He stared at Wooyoung, brows slowly drawing forward in confusion. Wooyoung could do nothing but stare back. He fought back the tears that still threatened to fall and mentally begged San to say something, to explain what the  _ hell _ he was doing. 

Wooyoung opened his mouth, but nothing would come, the corners of this lips stuck in a frown and his bottom lip quivering. 

Sena placed a hand on San’s upper arm, eyes on Wooyoung with a sad smile. “Sannie, let’s take this somewhere else, okay?” 

_ Sannie?  _

Even Wooyoung didn’t call him that.. That nickname was  _ Nala’s _ . It seemed special to them, and hearing it from Sena’s lips was.. It was  _ wrong. _

Surely San could tell Wooyoung was upset. He wouldn’t leave him there at the table alone, right? San  _ always _ knew when something was wrong, like some strange, sixth sense. When Wooyoung started spiraling, he was always there with a hug, a smile, and soft words pressed into his ear. 

But at her voice, San’s expression grew harder to read. He gave Wooyoung a syrupy smile, his lips red. It didn’t reach his eyes, and Wooyoung wanted to throw up. This was  _ wrong _ . 

“Okay,” San said, his voice making Wooyoung want to hide from the world, to hide from whatever  _ this _ was. 

San broke his gaze away from Wooyoung, and his confused eyes grew soft when he looked at her, his smile growing more genuine, more familiar. It was the way San usually looked at  _ him. _

If that didn’t hurt enough, San did stand, Sena at his hip, and Wooyoung watched them leave with fists clenched so tight he knew there would be crescents marring his palms when he woke from this nightmare. 

Maybe San will see them in the morning. Maybe he’ll take Wooyoung’s hands in his own and  _ know _ . He’ll know the effect this had on him. Maybe then he’ll take Wooyoung into his arms and tell him it’s alright, that this really  _ was _ just a dream. 

But instead, he stared at the empty table. Wooyoung wanted to scream, but  _ he should’ve known _ . 

He should have known that San was too good to be true, that there was no way someone as  _ good _ as San would love an arrogant, prattish,  _ stupid _ prince. 

So he stared blankly at the table. He stared, and it could have been minutes,  _ hours, _ before he moved again, his whole body numb. At some point, he found himself on his bed, curled into himself. He didn’t know how he got there, only that it was cold. 

It was empty. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! Kudos and comments are always appreciated. The next chapter will probably take a long time because it’s… a lot. 
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/lynnt1ny) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/lynnt1ny)


	10. A Servant of Two Masters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the writer finally has a breakdown.

He had too much to drink. That explained it- the stumble in his step, the blurry edges of his vision. 

San didn’t know where he was. He thought he was walking towards the physician’s chambers, but all he could make out was a long drawl of monotonous stone walls. 

It was late. He had passed a window on the way, and it was dark. The stars hadn’t come out tonight, but the moon hung there, bright and only adding to San’s already growing headache. 

Bracing a hand against a wall, he slowed to a stop, shoulder hitting the rough, uneven stone. He blinked, willing away the fog, but the world was still cloaked under a fuzzy veil. 

There was something wrong. He only had a little bit of wine. 

Where was Sena? She had left him outside Wooyoung’s room, telling him to get some sleep. Her words pulled at something in him, and  _ yes _ , if she wanted him to sleep, he would gladly pass out on the spot at her words. 

She looked so sad, though. San wanted to make her smile. He wanted to kiss her again. Would that make her happy? 

He bit down the sudden urge to go find her. She wouldn’t want him to do that- she told him to get some sleep. 

His head hurt. 

San took a faltering step, fingers tightening against the stone. His knees were weak, and he gave in, stumbling back and letting his back hit the wall. Before he knew it, San was on the floor, sitting against it. 

He had kissed Sena. It was wonderful. He wanted to do it again. Maybe  _ that _ would ease his headache. 

Her lips were as soft as they looked, and when he closed his eyes, her long locks were cut short, her jaw heavier, brown eyes instead of blue. It was addicting. God, he wanted to do it again. 

His head dipped, lolling slightly to the side. He must look drunk out of his mind, which didn’t make any  _ sense. _ And his head was full of  _ Sena.  _ All Sena, when before, he could swear it was only Wooyoung. 

_ Wooyoung… _ a deep pang set in his heart. What was wrong with him? A giddy laugh built in his chest, delirious and out of his mind. 

His feelings… they were  _ gone, _ snapped out of existence. He was free- he didn’t have to hurt from the shadows anymore as Wooyoung inevitably fell for someone else, because now it  _ wouldn’t _ hurt. 

Choi San did not love Wooyoung anymore. His head knocked back hard against the wall, and he winced. 

“San?” 

He blinked, a wavering figure standing over him, concerned eyes peering down at him. San shifted, shivering slightly. He didn’t know if it was an apparition or not, an effect of the hammer pounding at his skull. “H-Hongjoong?” he smiled. “Hi~.” 

The man crouched in front of him, a hand on San’s knee. “What did you do to yourself? Why aren’t you with Wooyoung?” 

_ “Young-ah?”  _ San laughed. “He’s okay. M going to bed- supposed to sleep.” 

Hongjoong winced. “Now’s not the best time to drink yourself silly, San. Woo.. he’s going to need you to be  _ yourself.”  _ He bit his lip, looking off to the side. 

San shook his head. “Can you.. can you take me to sleep?” 

“Wooyoung’s?” 

“No.. my own bed please.” 

Hongjoong’s were gleaming, something in them San couldn’t place. “Did you two have a fight?” 

_ “No, _ I just.. Sena told me to sleep,” San’s head hurt. “I need sleep.” He reached his arms out, ready for Hongjoong to help him up. 

“I’m taking you to Wooyoung.” 

_ “No.” _

“Why?” Deep creases set between Hongjoong’s brows. 

“‘M embarrassed,” San groaned. “Kissed Sena. He’s probably mad at me.” 

“You… you did  _ what?” _

_ “Sena..”  _

Hongjoong’s eyes were wide, boring into him. His fingers tightened against San’s knee. “And.. and Wooyoung  _ knows?”  _ His voice was a whisper. 

“I mean, yeah.. He was right there.” 

Hongjoong stared at him, horror twisted on his face. “What the hell, San.” 

“She’s pretty,” San slurred. “One moment, I’m fine, and the next…” he laughed. “I think I’m in love with her.” 

_ “No, _ you aren’t. Jesus christ, San, how much did you drink?” Hongjoong leaned in, nose scrunched up, trying to catch a whiff of alcohol on San’s clothes. 

San smiled. “Just take me to my room, Hongjoong. Please?” 

The conflict was visible on Hongjoong’s face, and San was too out of it to understand  _ why.  _ Why was he upset over this? To San, it was all so simple.

Hongjoong finally hooked his arms under San’s armpits and hauled him to his feet. San winced, the sudden movement making his head spin and the rough handling making him almost fall over again. When he looked up again, Hongjoong looked  _ pissed.  _

“Seonghwa is doing your job tomorrow,” he said. “You’re right. Wooyoung won’t want to see you.” 

Hongjoong’s words hurt a little, but something in San’s head blocked it, muffling the feeling down to a soft ache. A small pleasant buzz overtook his pounding headache, and he hummed in confusion. 

“Okay, then..” San said. He gulped back a confused laugh. It didn’t look like Hongjoong would appreciate it. 

Hongjoong’s lips were pressed together, but he wrapped an arm around San’s back and let him lean against him. “God,” he huffed. “San, you really have the  _ worst  _ timing.” The words were lighthearted, but there was an edge of anger laced in them. “I can’t believe you.. that you  _ did _ this.” 

San didn’t reply, too focused on how Hongjoong had started walking, moving them both down the corridor at a snail’s pace. He stumbled over his own feet the whole way, wondering how the hell he let himself get this drunk. 

Wasn’t the headache supposed to come  _ after?  _ He suddenly felt like asking Hongjoong to do a checkup on him, to make sure everything was okay. He wasn’t  _ this  _ much of a lightweight. 

But the voice in his head stopped him, whispers of  _ ‘Sleep.. go to sleep, San.’  _ whirling through his mind in a loop, clogging up all the space he needed to make rational decisions. 

He hummed, closing his eyes and letting Hongjoong half-carry him back to the room. He’d get to see Sena more if he took his job off tomorrow. Yes, Hongjoong’s idea to let Seonghwa take over was  _ great.  _

They both burst through doors of the physician’s chambers. 

“I think you can find your way from here,” Hongjoong said, patting San’s head. It was reserved- usually he would ruffle it until San protested against it. But now, Hongjoong only had a small smile, a gleam of anger in his eyes. “Get some rest. And then we need to talk.” 

(。-`ω´-)

Seonghwa didn’t wake him up. He didn’t need to; Wooyoung was already wide awake, half-sitting up against his pillows.

The truth was, the tears had already formed in his eyes, and when he saw Seonghwa standing there instead of his usual dimple filled servant, they finally fell. 

He didn’t cry last night. To be honest, he was proud of that, even if it was because of the shock, or the numbness that crept into his bones. But no, they were stockpiling until now. 

So he started crying, and Seonghwa stood by the side of the bed, an awkward hand rubbing circles over Wooyoung’s arm. 

Seonghwa didn’t ask what happened yet, and for that Wooyoung was grateful. There was no way he could answer now- not with him choking on air, his chest heaving to contain the wracking sobs that left his lips. 

The image from last night replayed over in his head. The universe was  _ sick.  _ Over the course of his life, this had to be the cruelest joke it played on him. 

Now that he had time to process it, it was like experiencing the  _ kiss _ again tenfold- an outsider at his own dinner table. 

Seonghwa sat next to Wooyoung, telling him to  _ breathe,  _ and he  _ tried.  _ It was all too much, and he curled into himself. Eyes closed, he could pretend it was  _ San’s _ hand on his arm instead of Seonghwa’s. 

He knew it wasn’t. 

Eventually, he was numb again, sobs subsiding. He thought he knew what it felt like to be heartbroken, but no,  _ this _ was it- the emptiness. He was drowning again, but he gave up on struggling, letting the water clog his lungs, feeling it  _ burn _ in his chest. San’s face grinned over him from above the surface. 

It was all too much. 

He kicked away the sheets, startling Seonghwa as he sat fully up, wiping at his face and gasping. There was a glass of water in Seonghwa’s other hand, and Wooyoung grabbed it thankfully, washing down his sobs as he gulped it down. 

He was a  _ mess.  _

Seonghwa patted his back, and Wooyoung anchored himself to that touch. He briefly wondered how Seonghwa knew  _ exactly _ what to do to help. As much as he hated it, he  _ needed  _ this crying session. Seonghwa was staying strong for the both of them.

“D-Do you.. do you know why…” Wooyoung finally addressed Seonghwa, trying to force the question out. 

Seonghwa already knew what he was going to say. “Hongjoong told me San was drunk out of his mind last night,” Seonghwa said. “Besides that, I don’t know what happened. Hongjoong told me to ask you myself.” 

It was easier to breathe now, after the water, and Wooyoung leaned forward, hunched into himself. Seonghwa sat on the edge of the bed behind him, a hand still on his back. “You can talk to me,” he said. “Since apparently San isn’t an option, and Yeosang is… Yeosang.” 

Wooyoung tried to laugh. He really did, but it wasn’t happening. He gulped, sucking in long, deep breaths. “I…” He didn’t want to say it. He didn’t want to make it real. 

But it was, and he needed to get past it. 

“San kissed Sena,” he whispered, and Seonghwa’s jaw dropped open behind him. 

“He did  _ what?” _

Wooyoung shook his head. He would not repeat it. He waited for Seonghwa to ask why it was such a big deal- why Wooyoung had just spent the last five minutes a sobbing wreck, but the question never came. 

“That doesn’t make sense,” Seonghwa said. His hand stilled on Wooyoung’s shoulder. “Was it.. like.. just a peck?” 

Wooyoung turned his head and glared at him. “What do you  _ think?”  _ He pointed at his face, incredulous. His cheeks were tear-stained, eyes rubbed red and hair disheveled from Wooyoung pulling at it all night. “Does it  _ look like _ it was just a peck? 

Seonghwa looked away. “Sorry,” he said, a slight tremor in his voice. “But... it doesn’t make sense. This doesn’t sound like him.” 

The truth was, Wooyoung  _ knew _ it didn’t sound like San. 

He didn’t even know why this hit him so hard. Yes, he’d burn the world to be in Sena’s place, but he didn’t know why it hurt  _ so fucking bad. _ People kissed all the time. He could go right up to Yeosang’s room and peck him now, and it wouldn’t mean a thing. 

No. It all boiled down to the way San looked at her, the soft sparkle in his eye, usually reserved for Wooyoung. It was the blankness in his gaze when Wooyoung called his name. It was the feeling of letting a lover slip through his fingers, even if they never crossed that line. 

Apparently, Sena beat him to it. 

“They  _ have _ been spending a lot of time together,” Wooyoung mumbled. He didn’t want to have this conversation, but it was necessary. “It’s just… we had a falling out a few days ago. He… He told me nothing would happen between them, and now..” 

Seonghwa didn’t say anything, and Wooyoung didn’t expect him to. There wasn’t much he  _ could _ say to help Wooyoung feel better. He needed.. He needed San’s explanation, but he didn’t know if he could  _ see _ San without sitting at that dinner table again in his head. 

Wooyoung felt the weight shift on the bed as Seonghwa stood up. He walked to the side of the room, pulling out a brush, and then he was back behind Wooyoung, twisted to the side. 

Seonghwa was careful, gently teasing out the knots that had formed in Wooyoung’s hair. It was so  _ normal. _

The world keeps going, even when yours seems to fall apart at your feet. 

“You should talk to Sena,” Seonghwa said. “This whole thing sounds weird. She has magic, right? She could have… done something.” 

Wooyoung hadn’t thought of that possibility. Could that be it? Did Sena.. trick him? Cast a spell? 

But that look in San’s eyes… 

“I’ll talk to her eventually,” Wooyoung said. “Once I’ve had time to.. process more.” 

Seonghwa hummed, seemingly satisfied. “You should also consider adding to my pay, considering all the times I’ve had to fill for San’s stupidity.” 

The corners of Wooyoung’s mouth twitched up. “Maybe.” 

“Good.” Seonghwa stilled behind him. “Now, let’s get you ready for the day.” 

.

Wooyoung caught a glimpse of San on the way to the council rooms. 

He was leaning against the wall, a small smile on his lips. Pink hair bunched behind his ears. It was definitely growing longer, but the roots kept its bright color, as if it was naturally growing out of his head. 

But that’s not what Wooyoung focused on. No, San’s eyes were closed, and his fingers were circled around his wrist, twisting over a leather band. 

Wooyoung was going to regret this. 

“San!” he called out. His voice was weak. 

San’s eyes snapped open, and Wooyoung gulped under his gaze. 

“Sire?” 

Oh… they were back to titles, then? 

His body acted on habit, even as his mind yelled in protest, and Wooyoung drew closer, standing in front of his servant. 

“What… what are you doing?” he asked. 

Now, he could properly take him in. San’s cheeks were tinted pink, a soft, warm color above his eyes. He was wearing makeup again.  _ Of course he was _ . His eyes themselves were dark, irises almost completely hidden by dilated pupils. Wooyoung would be worried if not for the wide smile on his face, lips pink like his hair. 

Whatever this was: it wasn’t good for Wooyoung’s heart. 

“I thinking,” San said. 

Normally, Wooyoung would return with a jab- something like  _ ‘Thinking? San, you’re going to hurt yourself.’  _ Instead, he found his hands at his sleeves, fiddling with the fabric. It was an unconscious tick he didn’t even realize he had until now. 

“Okay.. what are you thinking about?” he asked, thinking back to the soft smile he caught on San’s lips before he spoke. It was weird, but he wanted to taste it. Sena kissed San after a meal and some wine. Wooyoung wanted to do it now- when it was just San and his smiles, dimples on display to brush his fingers over. 

“It’s nothing important. I’m just..” San sighed, brows tilted up. “I’m going to see Sena soon for a magic lesson. It might be the last before she leaves.” 

Wooyoung perked up. “Oh? She’s leaving?” He mentally fist-bumped the air. “When?” 

“In a few days. She said she finished what she came to do, whatever that means,” San said. “I’m so excited! Essetir is going to be so beautiful.” 

Wooyoung’s mental celebration stopped with a screech. 

_ What?  _

Wooyoung took a small step back. “What.. what do you mean?” 

San blinked at him, pretty lashes fluttering above the top of his cheekbones. “She invited me to come with her. Isn’t that exciting!” 

“N-no..” 

San laughed. “You don’t have to worry. She said she’d take care of Beomseok. He won’t execute me for leaving my post,” he said. “And you can get an  _ actual, competent  _ servant for once. It’s a win-win situation,  _ and _ your rooms won’t be a mess anymore.” 

Wooyoung never cared about the rooms.

“You..” Wooyoung stumbled away. He needed to leave.  _ Now. _ He needed.. He couldn’t  _ look _ at San anymore. 

_ He’s wearing makeup for Sena. They’re having another magic lesson, he…  _

_ San wants to leave Sinsu.  _

If last night was bad, this was a thousand times worse. 

He failed. Wooyoung wasn’t good enough… wasn’t good enough to make San want to stay with him. Somewhere along the way, he screwed up. He must have. 

His father always told him to stop getting attached to people. Maybe he was right. 

Wooyoung couldn’t take this anymore. He turned tail and all but ran to his rooms, choking on air. 

(。-`ω´-)

Sena wanted to meet him by the field today. 

San saw her that morning. She came by to find him early, to tell him her plans of leaving. She finished her studies in Sinsu, and it was time to return. 

Great. He’ll take a horse too. 

He woke up completely consumed by her: the silk of her hair, the curve of her smile, the mesmerizing effect of her words. He had fallen so  _ deep.  _ It was almost laughable, the way it was all he seemed to care about now. 

San knew Wooyoung wanted him to stay, but Sena said... 

She said not to tell anyone they were leaving. God, he was so dumb. Wooyoung was right: San was terrible at following orders. 

With a shake of his head, he started heading to the field: he had wasted enough time. 

The trek was eerily nostalgic, and something about this being the last time he’ll take this walk made him frown. He didn’t feel like he’d  _ miss _ it; it was just a strange voice in the back of his head telling him it wouldn’t be bad if this  _ wasn’t  _ the last time. 

Wow, his head was really screwed up. He kept thinking in circles, and that certainly wouldn’t accomplish anything. He frowned. 

Sena was already there. She wore a pretty black dress, matching her hair and her jewelry. It was the first time San had seen her in completely dark colors, and his cheeks bloomed red. She really,  _ really _ was stunning. 

“Hi,” he brought a hand to his mouth, trying to stifle a smile that threatened to peek through. “You look nice.” 

“As do you.” She grimaced and turned away, as if looking at San pained her. That wouldn’t do. Did he do something wrong? Oh god, it must be because he told Wooyoung they were leaving. She  _ knew. _ That was so stupid. So goddamn stupid, but he was so excited, and it slipped out! He was used to telling Wooyoung things he was excited about. 

The headache from last night was slowly returning, and his frown deepened. How could he make this up to her? Why the fuck did she look so sad? 

“Sena?” He gently put a hand on her shoulder and turned her back around. “Is there something I can do? You look upset.” He pouted at her distraught eyes- clear, blue pools that made San melt. He tipped her chin and kissed her cheek, warmth filling him to combat the chilly air. 

She broke away, hugging herself and biting her lip. Sena looked across the field, and under the sun, she was shining. Even in all black, she was the lightest thing there, softer than the petals that surrounded them. San wanted to cuddle her to death. 

“I need to burn this field,” she said, and San’s brain short-circuited. 

_ Burn the field?  _

He cocked his head, waiting for an explanation. 

“I didn’t want to do it alone. It seemed.. close to you two,” she sighed, brows furrowed. “I’m so sorry it has to go.” 

San didn’t know why she was sorry, but if she wanted it gone, then her wish was his command. He smiled and lifted a finger, a flame curling around it. He remembered the first time he saw this particular trick, when she showed to him at their first lesson. 

It looked like it would be useful now. 

“Do you want me to do it?” he asked, and her frown deepened. 

But in the end, she turned away and nodded. “Go ahead.” 

He let the flame circle down to his hand, building in his palm. He marveled at how natural this came to him. He had gotten used to it, yes, but at the same time, his own abilities still shocked a small part of him. 

It was almost scary how good he was at magic. 

His heart panged, though. It burned, and he frowned. The magic wrenched at him, chest tightening. It was confusing. This never happened before. His magic never made him..  _ Feel  _ anything before. He gasped, the weight slowly crushing him, a vice around his heart and  _ squeezing.  _ He couldn’t  _ breathe. _

“What are you waiting for?” Sena turned back with narrowed eyes, and the flame disappeared. 

“I-I’m sorry.” San clutched at his shoulder, his arm across his chest. “I don’t know what happened.” The pain subsided, and he marveled at how fast it left him. 

She shook her head. 

San swallowed, bringing the flame back to his hand.  _ Damn,  _ it hurt, but he ignored it, crouching down and bringing it down to the petals by his feet. Surprisingly, they lit easily, and it began to spread across the vines in a flash. San pulled Sena back and further up the hill, clear from the rapidly spreading flames. 

The ache in his chest died away, but there was something else nagging in the back of his head, something  _ wrong  _ about this. 

Sena had a smile on her face- a sad one, but a smile nonetheless. He tried to copy it, but it wouldn’t come. 

The flickering flames cast an orange glow on her face. For the hundredth time, he was reminded of how  _ pretty _ she was, how beautiful people could be. 

Soon enough, the entire field was awash in red and black, charred remains and ashes littering the ground. Fires bloomed in place of blue, and San wondered if that was part of the magic, if the flames were lasting longer because of it. Sena walked away, black dress trailing behind her like the smoke she left in her wake. Even with his newfound infatuation, San didn’t follow. The field was more mesmerizing, more captivating at the moment. 

He stood at the top of the hill, staring down.

God, Wooyoung was going to be so heartbroken. He  _ loved _ this field, and San had just ruined it. San was suddenly glad he was leaving soon. He caused enough trouble for Wooyoung and the castle inhabitants. 

It was hard to focus on Wooyoung. San felt hollow when he thought of him, and that alone.. It was so  _ wrong.  _ He knew in his head that Wooyoung was important to him. San nearly gave his life for that bastard, after all. 

What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he  _ feel _ anything? 

He stared down at the flames, thoughts swirling in his head and an emptiness that only seemed to grow. 

(。-`ω´-)

Wooyoung found Sena in one of the towers. 

He tried to stay in his chambers, but he couldn’t take it. There, everywhere he looked, all he could see was San: by the table, in the mirror, in his fucking  _ bed. _

He needed to get away, and the only vacant place he could break down in without an audience was high up in the towers. 

Apparently, he was wrong. 

He had climbed the stairs by two, eager to get away from the halls of the main castle. He didn’t see her at first. She wore dark colors, blending into the dim corners of the small room. 

They were at the highest point of the tower, where the stairs gave way to a small circular area. It used to be a guard’s post, but the windows were too small, and the room too isolated to properly raise alarm. It became a storage space instead, housing boxes with cobwebs sticking to their sides. The faint stench of rotten fruit invaded the space. No one ever came up here. Some day, he’d order a servant to clean it out, but for now, he was happy to keep it his little secret. 

So much for that. 

He would have to keep himself together for a little longer. 

Wooyoung narrowed his eyes, taking in her dark attire and the jewelry, gleaming in the low light filtering through the windows. 

“What are you doing up here?” he asked, and she smiled. 

“I could ask you the same.” 

A faint black streak sat on her cheek, and the bottom hem of her dress was singed. He let her take so many liberties while she was there, but as it was now, Wooyoung finally had  _ enough.  _ “Why are you really here?” His voice was hoarse. “Drop the lies for once. I know you haven’t been talking with our scholars.  _ Why are you still here?”  _

She glanced away, hands clutching at the sides of her dress. “Nothing that will..  _ directly _ hurt you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Nothing that’ll hurt me? That’s bullshit!” He closed his eyes, face scrunching up. “What did.. what did you do to  _ San?”  _

“Nothing.” 

“Then why did he say he’s leaving? He wouldn’t… San  _ wouldn’t.”  _ Jesus christ, the tears were pricking at his eyes again. He needed to calm down, to stay composed. 

Sena raised a brow. “He  _ told _ you?” 

Wooyoung shook his head, chest caving in from the pressure that had been building ever since those words left San’s lips. “Why are you taking him from me?” 

“Wooyoung,” she sighed. “You’ve made it so fucking easy for me to carry out my orders.” 

“Some orders are made to be broken.” 

“It’s already too late.” She kicked the side of a box, and dust kicked up around it. “Magic demands a balance between life and death. You may not  _ get _ it now, but by taking San… I’m finishing this kingdom for good.”

Wooyoung’s fists clenched. He would not let this happen. By the end of the day, he was putting her in the dungeons, just like his father told him to do if she acted suspicious. He could figure out what was going on with San then. Everything was going to be okay. Tomorrow, it’ll be back to normal. San will be his bubbly self again in Wooyoung’s chambers. He’ll look at him with that sparkle again, the stars back in his eyes. Wooyoung will fall asleep in San’s arms again, a steady heartbeat against his ear. 

San will love him again. 

Because that’s what it was, right? Even if it was only as a friend, San had to have feelings for him. Even platonic ones would do. He just wanted everything to go back to the way it  _ was. _

“Unless you would rather me kill you, this is the only way. I’m sorry,” Sena was still talking over Wooyoung’s thoughts. 

He shook his head. “Sena, this doesn’t need to end like this. We can come up with a solution.” He reached for his belt, movements slow, but his hand landed directly on his side, fingers scrambling at  _ nothing. _

The guards were too far away to call. He needed to get Sena into the dungeons somehow. 

Did she know how to magic her way out? To manipulate locks? 

She eyed the way Wooyoung held his hand over his belt and chuckled. “I don’t think a sword will be very effective against me, especially one made of air.” 

She started walking to the door, and Wooyoung rushed to get ahead of her, to block it. He took a stance there, hands raised to form fists. Sena was an idiot if she thought Wooyoung would let her walk out after that conversation. 

“I’m serious. There’s always a peaceful solution. Wasn’t that the whole point of your visit?” 

“Don’t make me laugh.” She flicked her wrist, and Wooyoung hurtled to the side, crashing against the boxes on the floor. He hit his hip hard, and his hands burned as he tried to catch himself on the wooden crates, splinters inevitable. 

He caught his breath, and wrenched to the side, hand outstretched, but she was already through the door. It clicked shut behind her, and through it, he heard her mutter a few words, along with a slight exclamation of surprise. 

It shouldn’t have a lock, but fearing the worst, he lurched up and grabbed the circular handle, only to immediately yelp in pain. It was like touching a hot stone, his skin blistering where it made contact with the iron. The frustration and pain wrote itself on his face, and his eyes narrowed. Sena’s wasn’t in a hurry, her footsteps slapping against stairs, growing fainter by the second. 

He rushed over to a window, placing his palm against the cool cross-hatched glass with a hiss. He knew the tower was too high to climb, but if only he could  _ warn _ someone below. Dammit, he should have locked her up the moment King Sungho left the citadel. His hospitality was going to be the downfall of Sinsu if her words were to be taken seriously. 

_ ‘By taking San… I’m finishing this kingdom for good.’ _

What had she done? God, he was so stupid. His father  _ said _ the Essetirians were here for war, and yet.. He gave them the benefit of the doubt. 

Steeling himself, he was about to turn and kick down the door when he _saw_ it: A darkened patch of black against Sinsu’s brilliant landscape, smoke still lingering in the air. He peered closer through the window, nose touching the glass, and his breath caught in his throat, stomach plummeting. 

_ What the fuck was happening to him?  _

(。-`ω´-)

San did something he shouldn’t have. 

His body was torn in two, one side completely devoted to Sena, lost in her words and her presence, but the other side  _ hurt.  _ And it was that deep, struggling,  _ desperate _ part of him that made San do it. 

Because now, he knew what Sena did to him. He saw it in the book the other day, and after returning to the castle, after spending time in the physician’s chambers, laying on his bed and staring up at the ceiling, he figured it out. And he knew why Sena made him burn the field down too. 

From there, that internal struggle was back. He hated her.  _ God,  _ he hated her. 

But he loved her too, and he knew at her words, he would be  _ powerless.  _

Even now, the guilt ate at him. If Sena found out what he had done, she would be livid. He felt like a dog on a leash, desperate to make his owner happy, and the weight of shame  _ crushed  _ him down into the stiff mattress- so different from where he had slept the past few nights. 

Hongjoong was out again. He was being so secretive, and today, especially, his mood had been sour. When he saw San that morning, Hongjoong had asked him to apologize to Wooyoung. He told San to sort themselves out  _ now _ because apparently Wooyoung would  _ need _ it by tomorrow. Hongjoong’s eyes were so commanding, so violent. 

But that was before Sena came by and told him they were leaving, and that side of him that thought he loved her came roaring out in agreement. 

Now he knew better, but that didn’t stop the way his emotions twisted at the thought of her. He couldn’t describe it: the war that raged inside of him now-the softness that arose when he heard her voice, when he  _ saw _ her, versus the knowledge that  _ she used magic on him.  _

But how could it be fake when it felt so  _ real? _

A few hours after the field, after he planted something in Wooyoung’s rooms,, Sena came to see him again. She had walked in, eyes scanning the room in slight disdain, and she said there was a change in plans. 

They were leaving  _ now.  _

That was okay. He could leave. Everyone would be better off without him, Wooyoung especially. 

Even if it was fake, at least he wasn’t  _ hurting  _ like when he loved Wooyoung. He would gladly take this over unrequited love any day. 

He asked her where they were going, if they were making the trip straight to Essetir. His stomach dropped, hurtling straight through the floor at her answer. 

And then, she said he had to get the horses ready by nightfall. 

That gave him time to say goodbye. 

(。-`ω´-)

The door opened, but Wooyoung didn’t flinch. He knew someone would walk in eventually, no matter how isolated the room may be. He sat behind one of the wooden crates, back to the wall and hidden from sight. Hopefully, this person would leave and never find the prince hiding in the room. 

He didn’t even know the handle stopped burning hot. Looking back, he probably should have tested it earlier, but he couldn’t bring himself to stand up. He brought his knees closer to his chest, making himself smaller. 

“Wooyoung?” 

Scratch that, now he’d be  _ happy _ to get up and run away. 

“I couldn’t find you in your rooms, nor the kitchens or the council rooms. The knights haven’t seen you either. Yeosang too,” San’s voice paused. “I know you come up here when you’re upset. You can.. You can come out and talk to me.” 

With a deep sigh, Wooyoung squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t talk to San like everything was  _ normal _ yet. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t get their earlier conversation out of his head. He couldn’t get past the fact that San wanted to  _ leave.  _

But San came to find him, didn’t he? He wasn’t out with Sena or packing his things. Maybe he finally came to his senses. A small hope wedged its way into his mind, and he poked his head over the box, staring up at San in the doorway. 

His hair was mussed, and there were more streaks of soot on him than there were on Sena- on his hands, his arm, his chin… His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, cream shirt tucked in and unlaced at the top. Wooyoung’s bracelet was still around his wrist. He was a mess. A dorky, adorable mess. 

But the soot.. San was at the field, most likely with Sena as well. They  _ both _ set the fire.

What did that even  _ accomplish _ for her? Was Sena’s goal only to bring Wooyoung pain? It definitely seemed like it. 

San wasn’t smiling. His feet shifted against the floor, and he wrung his fingers out in front of him. He was tense _ , _ acting out the nervous ticks that were so unabashedly  _ San. _ He wasn’t looking at Wooyoung either, eyes tracing the floor and following the lines of the stone. Wooyoung’s small hope vanished just as fast as it came. 

Normally, he fine with showing weakness to San. In fact, San was the  _ only _ person Wooyoung was comfortable enough to do it. 

Now? He frowned as he stood, legs aching after being in one position for so long. He knew his face was tear stained, eyes red rimmed. But he felt slightly better now they were at eye-level. 

_ This is what you did to me.  _

He swallowed, chest slowly tightening for the thousandth time in the past twenty-four hours. San still wouldn’t catch his eye. 

The door shut behind him. 

“Sena did something to you,” Wooyoung said. “She all but admitted it to me.. You  _ have  _ to believe me.” His voice was scratchy, hoarse from the crying. It was unfamiliar- a foreign sound in the empty space of the room. 

“I believe you.” 

That hope picked up again, raising his spirits just a little bit. 

“Y-You do?” Wooyoung stumbled closer until he was right in front of him, forcing San to look at him. “Are you still…” 

Yes. Yes, he was. Wooyoung could see it in his eyes- the diluted pupils, the  _ emptiness. _ It hurt to see, but Wooyoung couldn’t look away. 

“Sire-” 

“It’s always been  _ Wooyoung,”  _ he stressed. “Don’t call me that.” He took San’s hands and clasped them in his own. “Come  _ on,  _ I need you to snap out of it.” 

San frowned. “Actually.. I came to say goodbye.” 

_ Goodbye? _

“This… this is a joke, right?” 

San shook his head. “No, I’m readying the horses after this.” 

He.. he  _ couldn’t breathe. _ San was serious. Wooyoung may never see him again. And San.. he  _ knew _ Sena was messing with him, but he still wanted to go with her. Where the hell did Wooyoung go wrong? Did.. did San  _ hate _ him? Was that why… ? 

He thought back to every interaction they had up to this point. The jokes, the banter, the near  _ flirting.  _ The soft moments came back, whispers of encouragement and endearment ghosting against his ears. Warm touches, both firm and gentle, were only memories now. 

He thought back to the beginning. Harsh words filled his ears, jokes verging on the line of insults, a thin wrist bloomed with dark bruises shocking him back to his senses. He remembered that day the most, how he watched as San tried his best to hide them from him. 

Back then, San thought he was arrogant. A twat. An  _ ass.  _ Wooyoung thought by now, they were past that- That San thought he was better. Wooyoung couldn’t.. He  _ couldn’t..  _

Wooyoung’s face crumpled, and the tears came running down his face again, except now it was worse, because San was right in front of him, and Wooyoung  _ loved  _ him. And.. and San wasn’t.. He didn’t.. 

Wooyoung couldn’t think anymore. He sobbed, knowing he was letting San walk out of his life just like  _ that. _ What could he do? San would hate him even more if he kept him there against his will. Wooyoung would hate  _ himself  _ for that.

Was there a way to make San stay? To show just how  _ much _ Wooyoung needed him? 

All his life, he wanted to be a good ruler, to be a good son _. _ He was Sinsu’s  _ only  _ son. If he screwed up, people would doubt the line of succession. That meant no crying. That meant no attachments. He had to remember rank. He needed to be the prince his people deserved: stoic and elegant, strong and wise. He had to be perfect. He had lasted  _ this long,  _ but he couldn’t do it anymore. 

_ “Please.”  _

San froze, his eyes growing wide, and  _ finally  _ Wooyoung thought he saw something there. 

“You always wanted me to say it, to  _ beg,” _ Wooyoung pulled San closer, letting go of his hands and instead balling them in San’s shirt. “Well, guess what?” He choked out words between cries.  _ “You broke me.”  _

Usually, San’s arms would be around him by now, words cooed against his ear. He didn’t know if he was begging San to hug him or to  _ stay.  _ Probably both. 

Wooyoung hid his face in the crook of San’s neck, forcing San to tilt his head to the side. It was familiar, warm. But at the same time, it felt so  _ cold.  _

_ “Please,  _ you can’t leave me,” he pleaded. Pathetic. 

San tapped his shoulder, slightly awkward in the gesture. It was so different from anything Wooyoung was used to, and it  _ hurt.  _ “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say,” San said. “We’re leaving by nightfall.” 

_ No.  _

Wooyoung pulled away to look at his face. 

No matter how upset he was, just looking at San usually made him want to smile, but now… 

_ Dammit _ , Wooyoung had imagined spending his  _ life _ with San. He had dreams about it sometimes, of them growing old together. 

His jaw locked up, and he closed his eyes, shutting it all out. 

And _ finally, _ he felt fingers against his face, the back of San’s fingers brushing away the stray pieces of hair that stuck to his cheeks, wet from tears. 

“I left something for you in the wardrobe,” San muttered. Wooyoung heard him audibly swallow. “And.. and don’t follow me this time, Young-ah.” 

_ Fuck you. _

He felt San pull away. Wooyoung didn’t have it in himself to  _ look. _

The door opened and closed with a click, and Wooyoung was alone again. 

.

San was gone. Really,  _ truly _ gone. Wooyoung remembered the looks he got on the way back to his chambers, but he couldn’t get himself to  _ care.  _ There were more important things than reputation. He was human too. 

He wished it didn’t take San’s absence for him to fully realize that. 

As he lay in bed that night, Hongjoong walked into Wooyoung’s rooms. His face was hard as stone, and his body stiff. Wooyoung had never seen him like this before, and he already knew something had happened. 

“I need to tell you this before it gets out,” Hongjoong said. He sat on the edge of Wooyoung’s bed. “I’m sorry I kept it from you, but… your father asked me to.” Hongjoong’s shoulders were hunched, and there were heavy bags under his eyes that matched Wooyoung’s own. His hands were stained from working with poultices, and he had this frazzled energy about him- strong, but defeated. 

“I can assure you, my day can’t get any worse,” Wooyoung mumbled. He turned on his side, facing Hongjoong. “Get it over with.” 

Hongjoong sucked in a breath, and his hands were trembling. Wooyoung was tempted to hold them still. 

“I…” Hongjoong bit his lip and turned away. His eyes shone in the dark. “I tried my best. And only me and a few guards  _ knew,  _ but..” He let out a groan of frustration. “But, I swear, he wouldn’t let me find outside help.  _ Someone  _ could have, but I.. I couldn’t.. ” 

“Spit it out.” 

Hongjoong gave Wooyoung a sad smile and put a light hand on his shoulder, but his expression slowly slipped into a grimace, his teeth clenched. The next words Wooyoung heard would change his life forever. 

“Wooyoung.. the King is dead.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twt](https://twitter.com/lynnt1ny) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/lynnt1ny)


	11. A Remedy to Cure All Ills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The air held a sense of reverence as Wooyoung approached the throne room doors. Yeosang stood by them, eyes cast down to the floor. It was a simple act, but it hit him hard, seeing his lifelong friend with his head bowed down. 
> 
> He’d have to get used to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much for shorter chapters. This went over 20k at one point, but I ended up cutting a bit out. Sorry for the long wait!!
> 
> Hope you enjoy~

Sena had a dream. 

She dreamt of a rich kingdom- one full of peace and smiling faces from sea to sea, one where even the peasants could be proud to call it home. One  _ Sena _ could be proud of. 

But that was impossible. 

Neither Sinsu, Essetir, nor any other kingdom in the land could ever hope to accomplish this. There were always bodies to be fed; children going home hungry at night; wars to be raged; power to exploit; crimes going unpunished. The list goes on and on. 

Essetir was a beautiful place. It bloomed with color and wealth. Sinsu did, too, but it was gruesome underneath. They both were if she were being honest, but from what she could see, Sinsu was  _ especially  _ bad. 

If anything could accomplish the impossible, it would be magic. Magic could solve so many of their problems. It could rewrite her legacy, her  _ future.  _ And Sinsu had finally fulfilled its purpose; if the rumors really were true, its prince gave her the magic she needed to take her first step forward. 

Sinsu’s royal family had hung the threat of war over their heads for over a century. It was inevitable, and with the military Beomseok amassed during his rule, they needed a desperate plan to take the upper hand before Sinsu’s soldiers marched. 

Essetir had tried in the past,—sixty years ago—but it didn’t work. No, they still hid under the shadow of an upcoming war they were going to lose.

For nights, fires and swords plagued her dreams. One day, she’ll wake up, and her castle, her future kingdom, will be destroyed under Sinsu red. And if it didn’t happen in her lifetime, what of her children? Was it right to force this fear onto them too? 

King Sungho focused his mind on bettering his kingdom, not on wars that may or may not happen. He made Essetir a  _ good _ place to live in. A place close to what Sena envisioned. 

Their safety landed on Sena’s shoulders—a test of her capabilities as a ruler. She never failed before, and her father gave her this task  _ knowing _ she could  _ do  _ it. This would ensure their safety. By single-handedly winning a helpless war, no one would ever question her ascension to the throne. 

King Sungho didn’t have a son, but he had a daughter—and a good one at that. 

With the plan, it should be easy. Taking San was the cherry on top, to ensure their victory. 

If only magic would cooperate until she could use it for good. It pushed against her, against  _ San _ of all people. She just needed to take over Sinsu, and  _ then _ she could focus on the magic. With more land, she could  _ triple _ seasonal crops. She could fix Beomseok’s cruelest laws. She could protect Sinsu’s people like her own.

Now, they had a chance, not only to  _ survive,  _ but Sena’s dream was closer than ever before. By destroying Sinsu, she could rebuild paradise. 

Everything was almost complete now. Now, if she had to destroy  _ one _ man and the troops he’d desperately send out, she’d do it in a heartbeat. 

(。-`ω´-)

They weren’t going straight to Essetir. 

San set up a small camp for himself and Sena. It was a familiar clearing, and he was almost certain he and Wooyoung used the same one before. It would make sense, considering their destination. 

He was excited. He was scared. He wondered what his mum was going to say. 

They were going to Balor. 

San didn’t think Sena knew of his attachment to the place. He nor Wooyoung had ever mentioned it in her presence. To her, it was just a small, isolated village in between the two kingdoms. She  _ couldn’t _ know, right? 

San didn’t know why they were going there, but something told him he wouldn’t like it. Balor was sacred to him. The spell couldn’t take  _ that _ away from him: the memories, his love for his mum, the blast of nostalgia that always overcame him when he thought of it. 

He sat in front of the fire, prodding at the wood with a stick and watching sparks fly. Sena had gone out to refill their water skins, and while San was reluctant to watch her leave, he was glad to have some time alone to think. 

The trip would take one more day. If they rode hard, they could even arrive tomorrow evening. San smiled, the heat of the fire feeding him warm thoughts. He came home with a prince last time, and now, he was arriving with a  _ princess. _ And it was obvious, too. Sena wasn’t concerned about being recognized. She was traveling in a pale blue tunic, a small, dark corset buckled around her waist. A silver necklace adorned her neck, and she wore arm guards: for flair or extra protection, San didn’t know. She hid it all under a dark cloak. 

He hoped his mum would like her. Sena could be sweet when she wanted to be. 

Should he tell Sena beforehand? Would it be weird if, on the way, he randomly said, ‘Oh, hey, you know that small, isolated village you picked out? Well, good choice: you’re going to meet my mum in a day!’ 

Yeah… no.

This entire journey brought him back to his trip with Wooyoung. They camped in the same spots. They took the same route. When they passed the point he had first run into Wooyoung on his past trip, he had to tamper a slight ache in his head. 

Magic hurt him now, too. 

He had experienced it at the field before they left, but now it was  _ worse. _ Even  _ thinking _ about using magic made his heart clench down, tightening his chest to the point he couldn’t  _ breathe.  _ Sena was experiencing it too, although not as extreme. It was like magic itself was becoming corrupt. He didn’t know what to make of it. 

Sena returned to the clearing, waterskins in hand, and San sighed. Despite knowing what she did to him, she made him smile. She made him want to lie down at her side and keep her warm. She made him want to kiss her. 

She never let him, and that was okay. Even under the spell, he wasn’t delirious. He still had some level of consciousness- a pretty high one at that too. It was strange, like the spell only targeted one part of San’s brain. He wasn’t  _ obsessed _ with Sena, but he wanted to make her happy, and if that meant not cuddling or kissing her, then he wouldn’t do it. 

He still wished he could, though. Maybe one day. His mum still only had that one extra mattress. If it worked on Wooyoung, then maybe it’ll work on Sena too. 

“I’m so excited to arrive,” he said, watching as she laid a bedroll on the other side of the fire and settled down. He had tried to talk to her on the way, but their conversations were always stilted. 

“Me too,” Sena said, her voice washing over him in a wave. “You’ll like it. The people are nicer, and you don’t have to be a servant if you don’t want to be.” 

Ah. She thought he was talking about Essetir; although, he  _ was _ excited about seeing Sena’s kingdom. But one thing did lay heavy in his thoughts. 

“What am I going to be, then? In Essetir?” He frowned. “It doesn’t seem like you’re interested in marriage. At least, not with  _ me. _ What am I going to  _ do _ there?” 

Sena went quiet for a moment. “You’re pretty enough. And really sweet. It’d be so easy to..” She trailed off. “I would feel too guilty. I’m sorry.” 

Well. It wasn’t a  _ complete  _ rejection. 

_ And _ she called him pretty. 

San hummed to himself. “Maybe someday.” 

She made a noncommittal hum and turned on her side. The fire flickered between them, and San took that as a sign to end the conversation. 

They already ate beforehand, and as they would have a long day ahead, it was time to get some rest. San offered to keep watch, but Sena wasn't keen on it, saying they would be fine. It struck a little too close to home, reminding him of a shadowed crossbow and panicked, brown eyes. 

He pretended to sleep for a long time before the exhaustion finally took over. 

. 

As it happened, they were going to arrive in the evening. 

It was a bright afternoon, the days still growing ever slightly warmer. The sun shone against the armor plates on Sena’s arms, and she let San braid her hair that morning (he learned from the village girls). It seemed, even away from Sinsu’s walls, he was cursed to forever wake up and fix someone’s hair in the mornings. 

The horses were completely spent, as they barely took any breaks on the way, and the weight of their extra belongings didn’t help either. San felt a little guilty, but at the same time, the closer they grew to the village, the more his excitement grew as well. 

Sena glanced at him sporadically on the way. He felt her eyes on him, her gaze doing things to his insides, melting him to goop. It was pleasant, and he didn’t want her to stop. 

“You’re sure in a good mood,” Sena said. They were riding side by side, and from what San could tell, they would ride upon Balor in a little more than an hour. “What’s putting that smile on your face now?” 

“You.” He laughed at her grimace. “You don’t have to act so revolted. I’m sure there are many people who wouldn’t mind my flirting.” 

She shook her head with a sigh. “Yes, I’m sure. Just.. give me time to get used to all of this.” 

Sena knew he was aware of the potion. At least, San thought she did. He wished she would stop being so mopey about it: things were better like this. He _ felt _ happier- at least, when his magic wasn’t trying to kill him from the inside out. He didn’t know if the spell was growing stronger over time, but he was certainly feeling more content, more  _ okay _ with it. 

Eventually, he could see Balor in the distance, and he was practically  _ glowing. _ Sena kept giving him odd looks, and his grin grew wider as they approached, the buildings becoming more distinct. 

All was well until he saw the soldiers. 

At first, San could only make out one or two, and his brow furrowed. But then his smile completely dropped when he saw just how many there were. They practically swarmed the pathways, and even from a distance, San could tell the stables were well over capacity. It was strange, like a small, private part of San’s life had been invaded. And in a way, that’s exactly what happened. 

“Why…” he trailed off. It should be obvious. It  _ was _ obvious. Sena and the Essetirians were planning some kind of attack, and of  _ course,  _ of all places they could have picked to rally or house troops, it was  _ Balor. _

What about the villagers? Balor had only  _ just _ enough supplies for everyone to be well fed and content. But with added soldiers? 

Was his mum okay? 

They slowed as they came across the entrance, and San all but leapt off his horse, shoving his reigns into Sena’s hands. He jogged forward, only to be stopped before he could set a foot into the village. He grit his teeth and tried to push forward, but a few Essetirian guards grabbed him by the arms and held him back. 

“What’s the meaning of this? Where is everyone?” San turned and stared accusingly at Sena, and even as his heart did a flip, he felt a hint of betrayal. 

_ Stupid San.. there’s no way she could have  _ known. 

Sena dismounted, unfairly graceful, and gave him a curious look. “He’s with me,” she said with a slight nod. Then, she took San’s hand and gave it a harsh squeeze- a warning to keep himself in check, and a potent reminder of what her touch could do to him. Even this simple touch sent him spiraling. 

She kept their hands linked as they walked through, the guards’ eyes following and gawking at the back of San’s head. Yes. He  _ knew _ it was pink, god dammit. This was getting ridiculous. He would turn it back to black right then and there if his magic wouldn’t stab him in the chest if he tried to. 

He pulled forward, disregarding Sena’s slight protest and walked straight to the side of the village he knew so well. He passed dozens of soldiers on the way there, and his stomach twisted at every link of chainmail he saw. 

Thankfully, the buildings seemed untouched, but San missed the liveliness of the streets, the children running across his feet with a yell. It was all gone. To his ears, Balor was eerily silent, even with the clamor of metal and gruff voices. 

San’s pace picked up as they drew closer, dragging Sena behind him. Her hand was a vice grip on his own, but he couldn’t feel it. Blood roared in his ears, and he pushed forward. 

Seeing his childhood home again after all this time made him grin, even with his heart thumping in nervous anticipation. Nala would be here, right? He had yet to see any of the other villagers he had grown close to. It was unnerving, but the house looked untouched, easing his thought just a little. 

He knocked twice: sharp, yet also half hearted. He pushed at the door, expecting it to open easily, but he found it locked. 

“Hello?” he called out. “It’s me!” 

At this point, Sena had obviously clued in on something because she pushed San to the side, staring at the door. “You know this place?” she asked, eyes wide. 

San’s brows furrowed even more, and instead of answering, he knocked more frantically at the door. 

With a breath of relief, he heard some movement inside. Thank  _ god.  _ And then the lock was finally sliding free, and the door swung open. 

Nala stood there, hair messy and eyes wide. She frantically looked over his shoulder, scanning the streets before yanking on his arm and jerking him inside, pulling Sena in as well. The door slammed shut, and Nala quickly set the lock back in place before rounding to him with a shout. 

_ “What _ are you doing here?!” 

Slightly taken aback, San gave a nervous smile. “Hi, mum.” 

Beside him, Sena let out a curse. 

Nala grabbed San’s shoulders and pulled him down, yanking at his hair. “What’s this? What the hell did you do to it? My color not good enough, huh?” 

San laughed, letting go of Sena and batting at Nala’s hands. 

“Sorry. It was an accident.” 

Nala scoffed. “Somehow, I’m not surprised.” And finally,  _ finally _ she pulled him into a tight hug. “It’s good to see you, even like this,” she said. 

San hummed into her hair, the familiar smell bringing him back to childhood comforts. 

When she pulled away, her face was stone, eyes intense in a way San always knew as  _ ‘Pissed off/Lecture incoming.’  _ Nala stared hard at Sena, and San wondered how the princess wasn’t withering on the spot. 

“Where’s the Prince, and  _ why  _ the  _ hell _ are you not with him right now?” Nala asked, poking a finger at his chest. She looked expectant for an answer, and San didn’t know what to tell her, slightly taken aback by her sudden hostility. 

He scratched the back of his neck, the rush of excitement from being there finally tampering down. “Um, well, this is Princess Sena. She’s taking me to Essetir.” 

Nala glanced between the two, eyes narrowed before settling on Sena. “I’m Nala. His mother,” she said, shifting closer to him. “Now, San. Answer my question. Why aren’t you with the Prince?” 

“I-” he grit his teeth. “Why? Does it matter?” 

Her stare was accusing- incredulous. She took a step back, breath growing heavier. “You don’t know, do you?” 

San shook his head: a small motion and full of hesitation. “Don’t know what?” 

“Information must travel faster than horses,” Nala hissed. “King Beomseok is dead.” 

San stared back. “Oh.” He stepped closer to Sena, turning to her with wide eyes.

King Beomseok… Wooyoung’s  _ father. _ “Maybe…” Maybe they should take a small trip back just to drop in for a day or two. San didn’t know what it was like to lose a father,—he never met his—but it couldn’t be easy. Wooyoung… 

Sena shook her head. 

Nala wasn’t having it. “San, as much as I love seeing you back, and your… hair catastrophe, you need to return to Sinsu.” 

He couldn’t go back. He was finally going to have his happy forever after with Sena. It must have shown on his face, because Nala shook her head in a mixture of disgust and disappointment. 

“Choi San, are you really going to let that sweet boy mourn  _ alone?” _ she asked. “I raised you better than that.” 

“He has.. Yeosang.” 

“And he should have you too,” Nala’s eyes bored into him. “What happened to you two? You were so..  _ lost _ in each other.” 

Sena’s brow creased. “Wooyoung has been here before?” 

“Yes, and I’m sure he knows the exact route to take once word of your little encampment reaches him,” Nala sniffed. “We were much better off before your soldiers arrived. I think he’d agree.” 

San would agree, too, but if Sena wanted it, who was he to say no? 

She rounded on him, standing tall and out of place in his childhood home. He wondered if there was a way to help with that. Maybe simpler clothes would help. Wooyoung seemed more comfortable once he settled in without his armor. San didn’t think Sena  _ had _ any simple clothes, though, and he doubted Nala’s would fit her. The way things were going, he didn’t think Nala would even be willing to let her  _ try. _

This was okay. It may be a rocky start, but Nala will warm up to Sena, eventually. 

“Why didn’t you  _ tell _ me you’re from Balor?” Sena hissed. “I would have moved the camp.” 

Warmth flushed through him at her words. He couldn’t stop the small smile that spread across his face. “You’d do that for me?” 

He felt Nala’s eyes on him, picking him apart where he stood. She’ll realize he’s in love, right? She figured it out when Wooyoung was there.  _ He _ didn’t even realize it himself until the second or third day they spent there. But now, it should be obvious, right? 

Sena rolled her eyes with a smile. “After all this? Yes, I would,” she said. “But it’s a little too late for that, now isn’t it?” 

“Your soldiers are tyrants,” Nala seethed. “The villagers are stuck inside. Not everyone has food stocked up in their households, _ My Lady.”  _

“A small sacrifice to keep word from spreading to Sinsu’s citadel. We won’t stay too long; they’ll all be fine.” Sena patted San’s arm, and he grinned over at her, adoration in his eyes. “I’ll let you stay here,” she said. “With your… mother. Until we depart for Essetir.” 

He cocked his head to the side. “You’re welcome to stay too. There’s extra room, and.. and we could cuddle?” He internally cringed at himself, but he needed to get his intentions across. The thought of spending so much time away from her triggered a panic in him, and he could feel it slowly build now. “I’m sure you won’t find a better place to stay in Balor than here.” 

Nala shook her head. “Don’t be so hasty, Sannie. There’s  _ not _ enough room.” 

San turned to her, brows furrowed and a pout on his lips. “What do you mean? You let Wooyoung stay last time?” 

“Different circumstances,” Nala said. “And you’re leaving, anyway, so don’t get your hopes up. I don’t care  _ what _ happened between you and Wooyoung. The son  _ I _ raised would be by his side right now.” 

San gaped at her. “Nothing happened. We just.. grew apart.” 

“Bullshit. Something like that doesn’t just die away.” Nala rounded to Sena. “I’m taking my son back to Sinsu  _ myself. _ I don’t trust you.” Nala pulled San away from her, gentle but deliberate. 

San pushed away, hesitant in his own movements. “No. I go where Sena goes.” He felt something vicious twist inside of him. “I’ll even go against  _ you _ if I have to.” The words left him without thought, and he immediately regretted them. Was it even true? His mum had always been the most precious person in his life, high above Wooyoung even when San thought he was in love with  _ him.  _ Now, his head spun. 

Nala looked almost horrified at his words, mouth twisted into a frown. She stared back at Sena, eyes growing impossibly more narrow. “What did you do to him?” she asked. “This  _ isn’t _ the San I know, and it’s not just the hair.” 

But Sena had enough too. After a heavy sigh, she walked back to the door, making quick work of the lock with a wave of her hand and a wince, eyes gold. Nala stumbled back and caught herself against her son. 

“San. Stay here until I say otherwise,” Sena said, stepping out into the chilly air. “I have business to attend to.” 

Sena left on that note, leaving San behind with a dull ache as that only grew bigger as she drew further away. 

(。-`ω´-)

When he was little, Wooyoung would go to the field. 

His visits grew less frequent as he himself grew older, but he had fond memories there, of falling into flower beds and getting stung by bees. Later on, he would sit in the middle of it all, pretending he was young again.

He wasn’t a kid anymore. As stupid as it sounded, it was finally sinking in that he would never  _ feel _ like a kid again. Not when a new crown would rest on his head. Not when the field was nothing but ashes and charred ruins. 

None of this felt real yet. He.. He  _ couldn’t _ be a king. Not like this. Tomorrow, he’ll go into the throne room, and his father will still be there, stoic and cold as ever- just sitting on the throne. And San will be behind him in silent support. He would wake up, and everything would be a  _ dream.  _

They didn’t know what killed him in the end. That’s what hurt the most. It was something internal, and besides a slight bruising on his back, Hongjoong couldn’t find anything else amiss. His father just…  _ deteriorated  _ from the inside out. And the whole time, he refused to let Wooyoung know. 

The death of a king wasn’t rare. Most didn’t live past fifty, and there were procedures set in place for times like this. The firstborn son had a night to mourn, and the rest of the family the day after. And then.. the coronation. 

Wooyoung was alone. He didn’t  _ have _ any family left. Yeosang, as the king’s ward, didn’t really count, and Wooyoung was the only son. He’ll be alone for a night and a day, and soon after, he’ll have to lead the kingdom seemingly straight into war. 

There wasn’t any proof Sena did this, but Wooyoung  _ knew _ she had a hand in it. They will strike when Sinsu is weak, when Wooyoung is just settling on the throne. It’s the smart thing to do. He’d have to immediately begin preparations for it. 

But first, he had time to mourn, and even if it was only for a night, he planned to use it to his full advantage. 

The night Hongjoong told him the news, he gave Wooyoung a sleeping draught, and he took it gladly. It promised him a restful sleep, clear of both dreams and nightmares. But that didn’t get rid of the sting of waking up alone, a nameless servant preparing his breakfast at the table. 

Wooyoung expected Seonghwa to be the one to wake him, but he couldn’t complain. Seonghwa wasn’t his servant. No,  _ his  _ servant was off god knows where with a princess as a bride. 

A black doublet was draped over the side of the bed, along with a dark gray undershirt, and it hit him then. He only had a few days left before they expected him to _ rule. _ He needed to be strong. He needed the people to believe in him. He was young. He was inexperienced. He needed to gain their respect if he wanted to  _ survive. _

“That will be all,” he acknowledged the servant in the room, and they bowed and scurried away. 

The news must have circulated then, he thought, taking in the dark attire laid out for him. He struggled into the clothes, and if his collar was turned the wrong way, no one could blame him. Wooyoung ignored the food on the table and fell back into his thoughts. 

All things considered, he was taking this well. At least, he  _ thought _ he was taking this well. Or maybe he was still in shock. That may be it. 

No matter how hard he tried to train this thoughts away from him, Wooyoung wondered how San would have reacted if he were here—if he weren’t so..  _ brainwashed. _ He’d probably be sitting next to him right now, a hand placed around Wooyoung’s waist and a head on his shoulder. Wooyoung wanted it more than anything right now, but the knowledge that he’d probably never see San again hurt like hell. It’ll be okay, though. San was in the past. Wooyoung needed to look to the future and leave it behind. 

But why was it so hard to let him go? 

Wooyoung collapsed back onto the bed, burying into his pillows and wrinkling his clothes. There was no one to scold him for it anymore. Fuck, he could lose all sense of propriety, and he wouldn’t even get a slap on the hand. Maybe he should wait for his father’s old court to stage a coup. They’ll get him executed, and he’ll be done with this. 

No, San wouldn’t want that. He would want him to stay strong, like Wooyoung knew he needed to be. 

He couldn’t force himself to do anything. It took the entire day for everything to sink in, the emptiness growing every hour that passed. He didn’t know how he was supposed to feel. He didn’t cry, which he was somewhat proud about. He just watched as the sun traveled across the sky, and he knew somewhere, San was standing under the same sky. 

His father must be watching him, too. Wooyoung didn’t  _ feel _ his absence like he did San’s. Maybe it was because Beomseok was never really  _ there _ in the first place, not like San was. Beomseok only left him childhood memories and an empty throne—shoes he wasn’t ready to fill. 

That evening, Hongjoong and Beomseok’s closest advisor, Siwoo, came to his room. After forcing him to eat, Hongjoong fixed his clothes, smoothing out the wrinkles and straightening its set on his shoulders. 

Siwoo watched from the door, face sharp, but with hard lines framing his features. He was always too prim and proper for Wooyoung, always focused on customs and reputation. He was here now, most likely to secure his place in Wooyoung’s court. 

They were here to take him to the throne room, where Beomseok’s body lay. People will see Hongjoong and Siwoo by his side in the halls. They’ll make assumptions, rumors flying through the castle at godspeed. 

They’ll be wrong, though. While Wooyoung was more than happy to keep Hongjoong by his side as the court physician, there was no way in hell Siwoo was staying, and he must know it, too.

Hongjoong fixed Wooyoung’s hair, avoiding the dull look in his eyes. Was it really that hard to look at him? If  _ Hongjoong _ wouldn’t look him in the eye, then what of his people? How did  _ they _ see him? As the broken, poor prince? He was a tragic figure in the making, the downfall of the kingdom. 

Wooyoung wondered why Seonghwa wasn’t the one to come in. Hongjoong wasn’t a servant. He had better things to be doing than looking after him. After deeming his appearance acceptable, Hongjoong let his hands fall, eyes still cast to the floor, and Wooyoung wanted to yell, to tell him to  _ look at him. _ He wasn’t a child anymore.  _ They  _ weren’t kids anymore. He could be strong. Hongjoong nodded to the door, and Wooyoung let himself out, limbs heavy. The two men trailed behind him. 

People glanced at him as he walked past, and heads bowed. It was silent, save for their soft footfalls against the stone. While the corridors were usually relatively quiet, this felt different—it was a suffocating silence, one born from shock and tragedy. 

Wooyoung stood tall through it all. Twilight shone through the windows, casting a harsh glow in his vision. They hadn’t lit the torches. They would stay dark tonight. Both the castle and the kingdom would cease activities until the coronation. 

The air held a sense of reverence as Wooyoung approached the throne room doors. Yeosang stood by them, eyes cast down to the floor. It was a simple act, but it hit him hard, seeing his lifelong friend with his head bowed down. 

He’d have to get used to it. 

The doors opened, and Wooyoung knew he’d be alone when they shut behind him. It would be a long night, but he could do this. He could take this one step at a time, and first, he needed to give his father his warranted respect. 

Beomseok was laid out on a raised clothed table, level with Wooyoung’s hip. He was dressed in finery, hands collapsed over his sword and crown on his head. A crimson cape flowed from his shoulders, trapped between his body and the table. His eyes were closed, a harsh reminder that they would never open again, that he couldn’t hide behind him anymore. 

Wooyoung knelt over him, a dull ache settling in his chest, and he knew, this was going to be a long night. 

.

They crowned him a few days later. 

It was supposed to be the best day of Wooyoung’s life. Instead, he went through the motions lifeless. It passed in a blur, his lips pressed in a constant grimace where he used to imagine a bright smile would be. Sitting on the throne for the first time with the crown on his head didn’t feel surreal. If anything, it felt more like a prison sentence. Watching people bow to him made him sick to his stomach. 

A year or two ago, this wouldn’t be a problem. He’d be giddy, smiling ear to ear. Apparently, a lot could change in a year. 

He sat frozen, eyes wide as people shouted his name, finery feeling too foregin, too  _ fake _ on his shoulders. The brightness of the hall gave him a headache, and over the course of the ceremony he felt himself get  _ so close _ to breaking down, to letting his face crack. 

In the ends, he didn’t move out of his chambers. He couldn’t make himself do it. In his mind, Beomseok’s chambers will always be his father’s _ ,  _ and Wooyoung’s would always be  _ his. _ The castle will never feel like his either. It’ll always be something left for him to take care of, something left over from his father’s rule. 

Now, more than ever, he needed to be perfect. The same servant always came to wake and dress him. Wooyoung would love to get to know him, to maybe strike a friendship like he had with San, but he couldn’t do it. The servant didn’t have the same bite—only doing his duties in silence and leaving Wooyoung to stew in his thoughts. Wooyoung could appoint Seonghwa as his manservant if he wanted to, but taking him from Yeosang was a crime in itself. 

Wooyoung would have to make do. 

He couldn’t leave his chambers looking less than pristine. Every hair had to be in place, every wrinkle smoothed out. He tried to look as imposing as his father, to mask the turmoil in his head. 

The first day was surprisingly smooth. Wooyoung sat in his fancy chair, listening to the problems and requests of his people. He ignored the advisors and made decisions on his own. Eventually, he’d change them out for people he trusted, but for now, they’d have to make do too. He didn’t have the time or energy to worry about it now. 

People whispered about him in the corridors now, about how he had changed. Only a few weeks ago, he was a bubbly presence in the castle, always poking fun at his servant and joking with the knights. He missed those days. 

His current mood wasn’t ideal. An unhappy king made for an unhappy kingdom, and it all came to a head when Wooyoung woke up to see a frowning Yeosang over his head instead of the usual servant. 

He immediately turned away with a groan. 

“Wooyoung, sit up. We need to talk,” Yeosang commanded, as if  _ he _ were the king between the two. 

Normally, he would complain. He would push at Yeosang’s nerves for the fun of it. 

Wooyoung sat up against the pillows, dull eyes looking through his friend and out the window. 

Yeosang shook his head with a sigh and climbed onto the bed, sitting next to him. He was silent for a minute or two, and Wooyoung was glad to have a small moment of quiet, before another day of issuing commands began. 

“I know this is hard for you…” Yeosang started. He cleared his throat, thinking over his words. “I don’t know what’s going on. I haven’t seen San in a  _ week,  _ and it was your fucking  _ coronation. _ You’ve turned into the walking dead, and you’re not  _ talking _ to anyone.” 

Wooyoung paused. “I’ve talked.” 

“Not  _ really.  _ Not about anything that really matters,” Yeosang winced. “People are wondering why you’re focusing so much on Sinsu’s military. There are conspiracies that Beomseok... that he was  _ assassinated.”  _

“Because he was,” Wooyoung muttered. 

Yeosang’s eyes went comically wide. “By who? Who else knows? How…?” 

“I don’t know,” Wooyoung sniffed. “But the Essetirians did something. I  _ know _ that much. He was in perfect condition. He... he was supposed to  _ stay.” _

“You think there’ll be war.” 

“Yes. Beomseok warned me too. He  _ knew _ he would die soon, and yet.. that was the only warning I got.” 

He wished his words held more meaning to him. He wished he felt a stronger loss for his father, but after the past few days, he still couldn’t muster up the right emotions. Everything felt so confusing. 

“And San? Where the hell did he go? Don’t tell me..” Yeosang’s breath audibly caught. “He’s okay, right?” 

Seonghwa must have kept things to himself. While Wooyoung was grateful, he didn’t have the strength to explain everything Sena had done, but Yeosang demanded answers. Once he set his mind on something, Wooyoung knew Yeosang wouldn’t settle for anything less than the complete truth. 

“I don’t know,” he mumbled. “He.. he left with Sena.” 

Yeosang stared at him, and Wooyoung didn’t blame him. He wasn’t there to see how San changed so quickly, how  _ wrong  _ San had been. 

“What do you mean by  _ ‘left?’  _ He’ll come back, right?” 

“Yeosang, let me get ready for the day.” 

He shook his head. “I’m worried about you. And you didn’t answer my question.” 

Wooyoung looked away. “He’s not. He.. he’s in love with her.” 

Yeosang made a face, wrinkling his nose. Disbelief shone in his eyes and he nudged Wooyoung’s shoulder. “Is that supposed to be a joke?” 

The sky was pretty. The sun peeked over the distant mountains, and long lines of clouds filled the empty space. Wooyoung turned the question in his head, watching the light creep in through the window. 

“Oh.” Yeosang shook his head. “That doesn’t make any sense! I swear he..  _ No.” _ Yeosang jumped off the bed, and Wooyoung tried his best to ignore his frantic pacing. “There’s no way San would  _ leave,  _ and especially  _ now.” _ He paused, staring at Wooyoung. “And you just let him  _ go?” _

“You didn’t see what he was like,” Wooyoung mumbled. “He was happy with her. I.. I  _ begged _ him to stay. He would have hated me if I kept him here.” 

Yeosang didn’t seem to take the excuse. He sat on the edge of the bed, gears turning in his head. Wooyoung kept his eyes on the window. If he wanted to walk to the edge, he’d have a clear view of the courtyard: the last place he saw pink hair. 

His chest tightened. 

“Yeosang, please leave.” 

His friend gave him a startled look, worry etched in his features. “I sent away your servant for today. Seonghwa should come up soon. There’s no point in telling me to leave because we’re taking care of you for a while.” He sighed again. “Hongjoong wants to check up on you too. We know this is hard for you, but you need to know there are people here who  _ care.” _ He rubbed his hands together. “And not about the stupid ‘king’ stuff. We care about  _ you.”  _

Wooyoung’s hands tightened against the sheets. Yes, he knew they did. He never missed the wary glances thrown his way in the halls or the throne room. He appreciated them. He really did. 

And yet.. he wished San cared too. 

“Thanks,” he said, if only to get Yeosang to stop looking at him like he was a kicked dog. 

Yeosang pressed his lips together and stood again. “Alright. I’m going to pick the most ridiculous outfit for you before Seonghwa comes in. His face will be funny when he sees it, yeah?” He tried to lighten the mood, hiding a frown as he turned away and walked to the wardrobe. 

Wooyoung paid little attention, still staring off into space as Yeosang rifled through his clothes. He knew it would be a long day- as  _ every _ day would be for the rest of his life, but at least Yeosang hadn’t changed too much. Wooyoung had  _ him,  _ and Seonghwa, and the knights as well. Hongjoong had been mostly avoiding him, though. Wooyoung would have to talk to him soon. He had a sneaking suspicion Hongjoong felt responsible for the death of his father. Wooyoung couldn’t let his physician have second thoughts—not  _ now.  _

“Why do you have so much random crap back here?” Yeosang asked, and Wooyoung froze. 

San said he left something for him in the wardrobe. Wooyoung could never bring himself to look. He was saving it for when he really needed it. He knew a day would come when the longing became too much, when he’d take any piece of San he had left behind and hold it close. The knowledge that there was still something left for him was strangely comforting, and mystery of it only made Wooyoung prolong it even more. 

But Yeosang was already stuffing a hand to the back of the wardrobe, pulling something out. 

“Really? Isn’t there a better place to put this?” Yeosang pulled a flash of silver from behind the clothes, and Wooyoung’s stomach dropped. 

San left him his circlet. 

He bit his lip and turned away, clenching his fists. Realistically, he knew San wouldn’t take it to Essetir, but he hoped he would. He hoped San would carry a piece of Sinsu with him to Essetir— to keep a piece of  _ Wooyoung _ with him. 

And as strange as it sounded, the circlet wasn’t a  _ San _ item. It didn’t comfort him or ease his crave for this old servant. The disappointment must have shown on his face, and Yeosang carefully set it on the table behind him. 

“Is that it?” Wooyoung muttered. 

“What do you mean?” Yeosang grimaced. “If I hid stuff in my wardrobe, Seonghwa would throw a fit. You’re lucky it’s behind the ugliest shirts. Honestly, why do you still have these?” He pulled out a purple shirt with a very obvious hole in the side. “San never brought this to the tailors?” 

“San wasn’t the best at being a servant.” 

Yeosang scoffed. “You got that right.” 

He dropped the shirt to the floor and went back to looking through Wooyoung’s clothes. “Oh, come  _ on.  _ How did this even get here? Isn’t this Sena’s?” Yeosang pulled out a navy bound book, its tattered edges visible even from where Wooyoung sat. “Did you steal this?” There was a mischievous glint in Yeosang’s eye. 

Wooyoung shook his head and hopped to his feet, breath caught in his throat. “San must have put it there,” he said. He walked over and Yeosang let him take it. “It’s one of her books. What am I supposed to do with a magic book?” 

Yeosang shrugged. “He must have left it here for a reason, right?” 

The pages really were falling apart at the seams. If Wooyoung so much as dropped it, he could easily damage it beyond repair. Why had San left this for him? 

He walked back and set it on the table. Yeosang leaned over his shoulder. “This is what San’s been studying from.” 

“Yeah.” 

Yeosang turned the front cover over, and they scanned over the table of contents. Most of it was indiscernible, but Wooyoung tried his best to make out the words staring up at him. 

It ranged from spoken spells, to charms, curses, potions, and the like. Reading that much made Wooyoung’s head spin. When he’d just gotten used to the concept of spells, of course there were  _ more.  _ There were entire  _ classes _ of magic they had yet to explore. It was both terrifying and exciting at the same time. 

And  _ he’d _ have to deal with the fallout of this.  _ He’d _ have to be the one to keep magic in check, to keep his people safe from it. 

He let Yeosang leaf through the pages, a curious gleam in his eye. Wooyoung’s thoughts wandered again. He did that a lot, lately. Trapping himself in his own head was a good escape from reality. In his head he could imagine his father by his side, rare words of encouragement ghosting by his ear. In his head, he could imagine warm hands around his waist, long fingers stumbling over the buttons on his clothes, and laughter in the air. 

Beside him, Yeosang nudged his arm. “Hey, I found something you might want to see.” He was biting his lip, a habit he probably picked up from spending too much time with Wooyoung. 

The book fell easily open to a bookmarked page, a familiar leather band sitting in the seam. He ignored the bracelet: the gut punch that San hadn’t even kept  _ that _ much of Wooyoung with him. Instead, he looked over the page San deliberately left for him to find. 

“Do you know what this means?” Yeosang batted at Wooyoung’s arm again. “Holy shit, we need to go get him back.” 

And sure enough, outlined on the page was a detailed explanation of the makings of a love potion… and its cure, instructions circled in red ink. 

He swallowed, nerves slowly rising up his throat. Could he…? 

“Get Hongjoong,” Wooyoung said. “And grab Seonghwa on the way. Tell him to inform the council that today’s proceedings will be delayed.”

“Sure thing, _ Your Highness.”  _

(。-`ω´-)

It didn’t seem like they were leaving Balor anytime soon. 

Sena kept San in his mum’s home, and he wouldn’t complain if she came to visit more often. He found himself constantly slumped over the window, watching blearily for any hints of black locks or blue eyes. 

His mum was fed up with him, but at least their arrival meant slightly better conditions for the other villagers. Now, soldiers came to the door to provide daily provisions, and while they were all still under lock and key, there were brief periods of time on random days where they would let them out of their homes, extra guards lining the perimeter. 

Sena was paranoid. This whole  _ camp _ was paranoid. Even in his influenced state, San could see the constant crease in Sena’s brow and the looks thrown over her shoulder. He wished he could do more to help, but she only came by for the occasional meal Nala refused to cook for her. 

His mum hated her. San was beginning to hate  _ his mum _ for it. 

That wasn’t true. No, that had to the potion talking. He understood why it meddled with his emotions concerning Wooyoung, but his mother, too? That went a little far. Still, he felt the hint of resentment building, the wisp of anger that wouldn’t go away every time Nala so much as scowled at Sena. 

Wooyoung… San was growing more and more  _ confused. _ Wooyoung clogged up space in his head, except not in the way San remembered. Where that emptiness used to be, a similar anger built up. He felt himself slowly turning against those he used to care about, and  _ damn, _ that messed with him. 

He and his mum were sitting outside now in the fields, a line of soldiers watching their every move. A few more villagers were milling around as well, though aimlessly. 

Balor was so different like this. It felt too confined, too restricted, especially for a place that used to be so  _ free.  _

Nala was staring past the guards watching them, out to the line of trees behind them. San smiled at her, trying to get her attention. He wanted to show her a trick, ignoring the burn performing magic brought to his heart. 

When he couldn’t get her attention, he sighed, picking at the grass. Nala hadn’t been too interested in his magic for some reason. Maybe she would be more excited about it under different circumstances. 

Her eyes didn’t waver, and San was getting a little worried when she turned sharply to him. “After I fetch some things, can you talk to that soldier for me, Sannie?” she asked, nodding to a guard on the far side of the field. His eyes were sharp, watching them like a hawk. 

San suppressed a small shudder, the air suddenly feeling ten degrees colder. 

“Why? For what?” He furrowed his brows. 

Nala grit her teeth at his response. “I heard him insult the princess the other day,” she said. “You should talk to him, yeah?” 

Oh. Yeah, that  _ did _ set him on edge, but… 

“Sena is strong enough to handle that herself.” San shrugged. “Plus, I don’t want to waste quality time with you.” 

She glared at him, and a few weeks earlier, he would cower under that look, shame creeping up his spine. But now he only grinned. “What’s the matter?” 

“I’ve spent  _ every day _ with you, and all you’ve done is stare out the window like a lovesick dolt.” 

“You’re right, I  _ am _ lovesick _.  _ Have you  _ seen _ her?” 

Nala rolled her eyes and stood to her feet. “Okay, then. I have to take a different approach then.” She helped San to his feet, eyes shifting back out to the perimeter. “How long do you think it’ll take for them to draw their crossbows?” 

“Why are you asking?” 

She shook her head and walked back into the heart of the village, pulling on San’s arm to follow her. “Listen to me,” she started, slightly out of breath, weaving her way quickly back to their home. “I don’t care how devoted you are to.. The princess. You’ll always be my son, and you know I love you, right?” 

San blinked at her, stumbling over his steps. “Yes?” 

They paused outside the house, and Nala looked him up and down for a brief moment, smile on her face. “You’ve really grown up, Sannie.” 

“I suppose so..” 

“Don’t talk like that. You  _ have.”  _ She paused. “They’re going to force everyone back inside in a few minutes, but you can convince Sena to give me a little more time, yeah?” 

“More time for  _ what?”  _

“A few seconds for supplies. Don’t worry about it. Just  _ hurry. _ Distract her as much as you can. For your mother,” she held his hands. “I’d do it another time, but I don’t know when another chance like this’ll come.” 

San nodded hesitantly, and Nala stretched up to kiss his cheek. “I love you.” 

“Yeah…” 

She let go and rushed inside. San stood in slight shook, but after a quick shake of his head, he stepped away and set out to find Sena. He couldn’t say no to his mother- not when she asked like that. 

He assumed Sena was about to give the order to put everything back in lockdown, so he sped to the center of the village, looking for a familiar figure. 

He found her quickly. He was drawn to her, like she was magnetic. San grinned, getting her attention with a hand on her shoulder. 

“Hi,” he said dumbly, reaching to hold her hands, much like his mother had done to his only a few moments ago. 

“Go home, San.” There was a faint smile on her face. “I’m a little busy at the moment, and it’s time for everyone to settle down, anyway.” 

“Mmm, but I’m  _ bored.”  _

He pouted. He found no one could refuse him when he sulked. Even Sena had fallen for it more than once. Hopefully, it would work now, too. 

How long was he supposed to distract her? 

Sena sighed, cheeks growing red- from bashfulness or irritation, San didn’t know. “I have things to do, San.” 

“Like what?” San deepened his pout, probably looking ridiculous at this point. “I miss you. It  _ hurts. _ Can’t we at least  _ talk _ for a few minutes? _ ” _

Sena was especially susceptible to his discomfort. It made him warm and happy-that she cared about his wellbeing, and if he used that to his advantage now, she didn’t have to know. 

He cupped her cheek, the soft skin under his palm addicting and  _ never enough. _ “Why did you make me love you, Sena?” he asked. It bothered him for a while, and now seemed a good time to ask, as he needed a good topic to keep her from pulling everyone back inside. 

Her eyes went wide for a second before narrowing, and San almost flinched back. “So you  _ do _ know,” she said. 

San nodded, a sad smile on his lips. “Of course I do. It’s okay, though. I’m okay with it.” 

Sena frowned, turning to look to the side. “I’ll be honest with you, then.” 

She pulled San’s hand away from her face with a grimace, and the simple gesture felt like a shot to his heart. “I’m sorry. I really am, but Sinsu is corrupted enough as it is. Essetirian rule will  _ help. _ My father has plans. The land will prosper, and it’ll double the size of our kingdom. But first, knowing the stubbornness of Sinsu’s royal family, there’ll be war.” 

“That doesn’t answer my question.” 

“A broken prince will make an awful king.” She sighed. “You two made it too easy.” 

“And now..?” 

“We wait out the first few weeks of his reign before we amass more troops and march from here. I’m not a monster,” she said. “But if I’m still being honest, I might leave a bit earlier. I feel bad for leeching off this village. And knowing it’s  _ your-”  _

A loud crash reverberated through the air, and San quickly turned back to catch a glimpse of a loose horse from the stable shooting through the village streets, bags haphazardly thrown over the side. 

San almost jumped out of his skin, and he watched with his jaw dropped open as the rider turned and  _ smirked _ at them on the way out. 

And  _ of course, _ it was Nala. He only saw her for a split second before she hurtled through a sharp turn at full speed, out of sight. Shouts rang throughout the village along with the whiney of the horse and the clamp of hooves on the path. 

San didn’t know his mum  _ could _ ride a horse. He looked in the direction of the clamour in awe before remembering the soldiers. 

_ ‘How long do you think it’ll take for them to draw their crossbows?’ _

San’s heart lodged back in his throat. 

He knew what it felt like. He knew how much it hurt- how easily death could come from a clear shot. 

He ran. 

He checked behind him as he rushed ahead, but Sena was already gone. How long had he stood there, gaping? 

He reached the field quickly, and he didn’t see a felled horse, or any trace of his mother. That was good, right? That meant she escaped. She had to be okay. She had supplies. Did she know the way to Sinsu? 

A small crowd gathered at his side. A kid hooked onto his leg, but he couldn’t give them attention like he used to. The village children loved him, he knew. Now, especially, due to his new hair. They didn’t realize his allegiance wasn’t with the village, but with the Essetirians. To them, he was a comfort. 

But he questioned himself- now that he aided in an escape, even if he wasn’t aware of what it was. He should have known, though. After all, they shared the same blood. San probably would have done the same in her place. 

Sena was at the edge of the field, talking to the soldiers there. Even from here, San could see her fuming, her entire body tense. 

_ Please don’t send soldiers after her.  _

Sena turned at stared him down, brows drawn forward. San gulped, stumbling back into the crowd as best he could with a child clinging to him. 

Nala was going to warn Wooyoung. He’d send his own unit down here. 

The war wasn’t going to start at the citadel. It was going to start  _ here. _

San felt sick to his stomach. They needed to evacuate the villagers. There’s no point in keeping them under house arrest anymore. 

Either that, or Sena needed her camp to leave  _ now.  _

He refused to believe she would send people after his mum. There’s no way. 

A few soldiers left their posts, making their way to the stables, and San shakily brought a hand to his mouth. 

Sena  _ wouldn’t. _ Not his love. 

Maybe it was more unrequited than he thought. Unlike Wooyoung, San thought he had a  _ chance _ with Sena. After all,  _ she  _ was the one who used magic to mess with his emotions. 

It was obviously all fake. After all, she just told him she only did it to further her cause against Sinsu. But his brain didn’t let him think down that road, not with Sena walking up to him now, anger simmering in her eyes. 

He quickly pulled away from the crowd, stumbling back, but the people parted to let Sena through. Whispers traveled among the villagers, and Sena barked an order for them to return to their homes. 

A few moments later—after a series of hushed voices and hurried footsteps—San found himself alone with Sena standing in front of him. He couldn’t use the distance to shield her anger anymore, and he cringed away. 

“You helped her,” Sena accused. “If you hadn’t come to distract me, this wouldn’t have happened.” 

San shrugged, eyes flitting away. “I swear I didn’t know.” He ignored the tone of her voice, pretending it didn’t cut him straight to the bone. Will he always feel this…  _ physically _ guilty for pushing against her? The overwhelming need to make her smile came back. 

But his mum.. He stared at the line of trees, the empty guards spots. “You sent soldiers after her,” he whispered, the unspoken accusation in his voice.

“With orders to capture, not kill.” Sena huffed. “You really had to make things more difficult for me, yeah?” 

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. It really did hurt to see her so upset, almost like a physical  _ burn.  _ And knowing that  _ he _ had been the cause only made it worse. 

“She’ll be okay, then?” A small relief. 

“We’ll see,” Sena said. “My soldiers aren’t as dim-witted as those guards your prince kept sending to trail me. You’ll be lucky if she isn’t harmed.” 

San clenched his fists, the inner turmoil churning up again. It was all too confusing. He didn’t know which emotions were real and which were fake. 

Sena turned a calculating eye on him, watching his expression—the hurt on his face. She sighed. “Something like this can’t happen again, San. I’m giving you another dose of the potion.” 

“Another?” He raised his brows. He didn’t know what effect that would do to him, but seeing the hard set of her eyes already sealed his decision. 

“For your own good,” she said, and he nodded. 

“Only for you.” 

(。-`ω´-)

They had come  _ so close.  _

Wooyoung didn’t have all the ingredients for the cure. No, Sena made sure to burn the most important one to ashes before she left. 

The book called them morning glories. Wooyoung knew them as those pretty flowers that reminded him of his childhood. 

And San. 

Hongjoong had  _ every other  _ material in his storage. They had been so  _ close. _ They didn’t even need magic to get it to work- just those  _ stupid flowers. _

He and Yeosang went down to the field, sneaking past Wooyoung’s own guards to get there unnoticed. They needed  _ one.  _ Just one flower. And then Wooyoung could somehow get to Essetir and bring his servant back. 

This new hope surprised him. A part of San was still there. A part of San gave him the exact instructions to break the spell. 

He could have him back. 

But the field was desolate. The ground was blackened and dreary- not a hint of blue in sight. They must have searched for over an hour, hands stained black from scrambling through the dirt and soot. 

The flowers  _ had _ to grow somewhere else. He needed to send patrols out to search for more. However, that didn’t seem like an option, as the threat of an Essetirian attack grew every day. 

Sena better keep San out of the fighting. She better keep him safe, in her own castle. While it would make the rescue attempt ten times harder for Wooyoung, seeing San on the opposite side of the battlefield would definitely cause a breakdown. 

So they were back to square one. They had explicit instructions for the cure, but they  _ couldn’t fucking make it.  _

And Wooyoung still had duties to complete. He couldn’t focus all of his energy on it. That’s what sucked the most. 

A few days after he discovered the book, he found himself back on the throne, trying to keep himself composed with a growing headache. 

With the warming weather, crops and wildlife were returning. This was good. At least one thing was going well for him. However, Wooyoung wanted to change how rations in the citadel were split. He wanted to give the lower towns a larger percent. After all, it was  _ their _ work the castle profited from. 

The council had other plans that went directly against his wishes. Wooyoung quickly found that even as King, that didn’t mean his decisions were final. It was stressful. He needed to find an easy way to switch people out as quickly as possible, except he didn’t  _ know _ anyone else who could fit the job. 

On the bright side, magic still stayed underground. He didn’t hear of any more accounts of it, and no one came forward saying they had it. He could deal with new regulations concerning it at a later time. This was also good—he had enough on his plate at the moment. 

He was in the middle of a consultation now, where people came to offer a range of grievances or gifts. To be honest, this was his favorite part to play as king. He could have open conversations with his people without the council hanging on his shoulder. He had been keeping tabs on the more agreeable people who came to him. He had to keep his options open for when he could finally build his own council instead of relying on his father’s.

It was unheard of, but he didn’t care. He had enough of old-fashioned beliefs and class discrimination. He had San to blame for this. 

He sighed as the doors opened for the last person. Soon, he could get off this uncomfortable chair and take a nap. Seonghwa would probably scold him, but it’ll be worth it. 

But he suddenly sat straight up, staring out by the doors. 

Hongjoong was there, a woman’s arm around his shoulder as she leaned against him. There was something wrong with her leg. Reputation be damned, Wooyoung shot off of the throne and rushed to meet them face to face. 

“I’m sorry, Your Highness. She wouldn’t let me treat her before talking to you, and..” Hongjoong started talking and paused when he saw the look on Wooyoung’s face. 

“Nala..” Wooyoung breathed out. He didn’t think he’d ever see her again, and he grinned. “It’s really good to see you. Did you.. Did you get injured on the way? If you wrote a letter, I could have sent someone to help with the journey. I-” He froze, reeling in his words. He gulped and took a tiny step back. “San isn’t here.” 

“I know,” she said. Her voice was hoarse, and Wooyoung bit his lip. 

“You.. do?” 

“He’s in Balor. With that wretched princess of his.” 

_...Oh.  _

Balor.  __

_ ‘Don’t follow me this time, Young-ah.’  _

It was painfully obvious. He should have known that’s where San would go. 

He looked down, quickly masking the hurt that flashed across his face. 

“Ah, excuse me,” Hongjoong cut in. “Who are you, exactly?” 

“My name is Nala,” she said. 

“San’s mother.” 

Hongjoong clicked his tongue. “That explains… a lot.” 

Wooyoung smiled, remembering the first time  _ he _ met Nala. Life was easier back then. He wished he didn’t take it for granted. “You’ve.. ah, seen him, then?” he asked. “How is he?” 

Nala wrinkled her nose. “He’s gone dumb. It’s like the pink hair sucked out all of his intelligence.” She laughed–no mirth in her eyes. “But no, there’s something obviously wrong with him. His compassion… it’s gone.. redirected to this..  _ Princess Sena.” _

“I know.” Wooyoung suddenly felt so  _ small. _ “She used magic. I’m… I’m working on a cure.” 

Nala grinned. “Good. You better finish it quickly. I have information you might want to hear about Balor.” 

Wooyoung nodded. “Of course. I’ll be glad to listen  _ after _ you let Hongjoong treat you. I’ll come by the chambers in a bit.” He glanced at the guards lining the walls of the room. It was a win-win situation. Nala could take time to recover, and Wooyoung could talk to her without extra ears listening in.

“Is that an order, Young-ah?” 

He paused, taking in her cheeky smile. The familiarity of it sent a pang through his chest. “Yes, it is. Get some rest.” 

Hongjoong led her out with a bewildered expression, and Wooyoung let himself smile. 

.

Wooyoung had a plan to get a flower.

It was terrible, but it was  _ something,  _ and even the smallest amount of hope was  _ enough.  _ Nala said he’d need a cure  _ quickly, _ and after his visit to the physician’s chambers, he learned about the Essetirian troops stationed in San’s hometown. 

It was simple, really: He needed to make a cure, get a party of knights down to Balor, get San  _ out, _ and take care of the mess Sena created there. But first, he needed a  _ fucking flower. _

Which brought him to the plan. 

If he could even call it that. 

San used to bring flowers to his room every day. They were still there now, sitting in the little vase in the corner of his room, only withered and long dead. Wooyoung could never bring himself to take them out. 

So. 

His plan. 

San said he could do magic by  _ thinking  _ really hard. With a grimace, Wooyoung took a chair and set it in front of the vase. 

He didn’t have magic, so he  _ knew _ nothing would happen. But there wasn’t anything wrong with trying, right? He plopped himself down in front of it, resting his head on his hands. And he stared. He stared so fucking hard, his vision went blurry. 

This was a new low, even for  _ him.  _

But there was a chance it could work. The best things always happened when Wooyoung acted like an idiot. This was no exception, right? 

He rubbed at his eyes and kept staring at the withered petals. 

Nothing. It was the same gray, wilted bouquet. 

If his father saw him now, he’d be ridiculed to no end.

He didn’t have time for this. 

Wooyoung sighed and slumped back. 

Every good plan had a backup, and while  _ his _ may be terrible he’d have to go with the last resort. 

The book didn’t specify if the flowers had to be  _ alive.  _ While Wooyoung wished they didn’t have to take any chances, it seemed this was the best he would get. If they had to make the cure with dead flowers, then so be it.  _ He didn’t care anymore.  _ And now that he knew where San  _ was?  _ He already had a few knights in mind for the journey.

San was coming back with him no matter what. He was the  _ King.  _ If the cure didn’t work, he could bring San back and order him to revive the flowers himself. Hopefully then, they’d be able to make a working cure. 

They were going to be fine. 

Wooyoung set off to the physician’s chambers. 

Okay. Yes. They could make the cure tonight, and he could leave for Balor in the morning. He held one of the flowers loosely in his palm, a new desperation in his stride. 

Two hours later, and he, Nala, and Hongjoong sat by a table, staring at a small vial with a murky mix of green and brown swirling inside. 

Wooyoung grimaced. “It won’t..  _ kill  _ him, right?” 

“There’s nothing potentially lethal in the ingredients,” Hongjoong said. “The worst-case scenario is a strong stomach ache.” He wrinkled his nose. “Or maybe some bile.” 

“Do you really think this will knock some sense into him?” 

“If anything can, it’s this.” Hongjoong chuckled to himself. “It’ll taste like horse droppings, I’m sure.” 

Nala grimaced. “He can’t even take his vegetables.” 

Despite everything, Wooyoung smiled. Hongjoong seemed convinced it would work, and it made Wooyoung feel that much better. “How hard do you think it’ll be to convince him to drink it?” 

“You have my full permission to shove it down his throat if it means he’ll stop being all googly eyed,” Nala said. “He’s been out of his mind. It’s disturbing.” 

“You better keep this concoction safe, then,” Hongjoong took Wooyoung’s hand and set the vial firmly over his palm. “If it breaks on the way there, that means fewer flowers for our failsafe and more time away from Sinsu. When do you set off?” 

“Soon. I need to ready a party of knights first. Sena only has a hundred soldiers stationed at Balor, give or take, according to Nala. With numbers like that, they aren’t that big of a threat.” Wooyoung worried his bottom lip. 

“Take a small group,” Nala said. “To minimize damage. It’s easy to slip past the guards. You should get in, get San, and get out.” 

“That’s suicide.” Hongjoong frowned. “And impractical. We should get rid of the threat  _ before _ it gets big.” 

_ “Not in my hometown,”  _ Nala turned to Wooyoung. “San would never forgive you if war breaks out in Balor.” 

“I wouldn’t be able to forgive  _ myself,”  _ Wooyoung said. “If I get rid of Sena herself, the soldiers will be forced to return to Essetir easily without orders to follow. Singling her out could minimize damage  _ and  _ get rid of the threat she poses.” 

“But-” 

“They’ve done everything short of declaring war. If they can kill a member of  _ our _ royal household, we can kill one of  _ theirs,” _ Wooyoung seethed. 

“There’s no proof..” 

“You and I both know Sena had something to do with my father’s death. Don’t deny it.” 

They exchanged wary glances. “I suppose...” Hongjoong started. “There’s a chance she was involved. Either that, or she has awful timing.” 

Wooyoung didn’t believe it was a coincidence for one second. He sighed. “Either way, this only ends when  _ she _ is gone for good.” He turned to Nala. “I’m taking a large battalion. You have my word there won’t be major damage, but taking Sena out first and overwhelming them is the only way to force the soldiers away with minimal combat involved.” And finally, to Hongjoong: “I need you and Yeosang to take care of the citadel while I’m gone. My ‘advisors’ are going to throw a fit over this.” 

“So you’re putting damage control on me?” 

Wooyoung clapped him on the back. “I sure am.” He smiled. “Do you mind letting Nala stay in San’s room for the time being too? I’m sure you’d like the extra company.” 

“Of course. It’s been abandoned ever since San started staying with you overnight.” Hongjoong scrunched up his face. “I never got to tease you two about that.” 

Wooyoung froze and glanced over at Nala’s face, but her expression didn’t change. “There’s nothing to tease about.” 

“Hmm, sure.” 

_ “No, _ I swear, nothing happened.” He scratched the back of his neck. Did they really have to have this conversation in front of San’s  _ mother? _ And  _ now? _

Hongjoong cackled. “Only trying to lighten the mood, Your Highness. Don’t worry about us. We’ll keep things running while you’re gone.” 

A rush of gratitude filled him. “Thank you.” 

Wooyoung felt so much better now that he had an actual plan that could work. It wasn’t much, but it finally felt like he had a firm grasp on  _ something _ in his life. He had something to grab onto now, and he could finally think about something that  _ didn’t _ twist his stomach up in knots:

Hope. 

.

They couldn’t make camp too close to Balor. 

Wooyoung settled his troops down quite a distance away, keeping fires to a minimum and look-outs at far ends of the encampment. 

It took almost an entire week just to prepare for the journey. Balor wasn’t too far, but with all the troops Wooyoung had at his back and the terrain on the way, they had to take it slow. It felt like a lifetime by the time they were ready to set down their last camp. 

It was hard to miss an army the size of his, especially out in these lands where there were only occasional small villages and well-worn paths. Sena most likely already knew he was there, but it was never a bad idea to be careful. 

So yes, he’d have to trek through a significant distance to reach the village from there, and he’d have to do it on foot. 

Along the way, he had a lot of time to mull over his plan and make a few tweaks here and there. 

Step one: Get San out, in case things do go to shit. 

Step two: Get Sena isolated.. She took San for a _ reason. _ Having San on his side could make it easier to lure her out too. 

But it forced him to face San  _ so early _ in the plan, and he  _ needed _ the cure to work.

It would. It had to. 

He had to put all his faith in that glass vial. Hongjoong knew what he was doing. It  _ had  _ to work. 

Wooyoung wore a black doublet, similar to the one he wore on that night after his father’s death, except this one was made of leather, and he wore black underneath to cover his arms as well. A dark cloak hung over his shoulders, hood down for now. He should blend in perfectly, if not for the sword glinting at his side. 

He’d never use it on San, but Yunho insisted he bring it in case he met trouble on the way. 

Yunho stood in front of him now, worry etched on his face. 

“Remember, if I’m not back here with San in three hours, send in a party,” Wooyoung said. “It shouldn’t take that long, so if you see  _ anything _ amiss before then, I trust you’ll make the best decision.” 

Yunho hesitated. “I’m still not sure this is the best course of action,” he said. “So many things could go wrong. You’re the  _ King.  _ If you die, the kingdom is lost. The royal family…” 

“Yeosang can take over. He’s smart. He’s standing in  _ now,  _ isn’t he?” 

“Wooyoung…” 

“You trust me, alright?” 

Yunho nodded. 

“Good. I’ll be fine.” 

Mingi came up behind him, a comforting smile on his face. “Quick and easy, yeah?” 

“Yes.” 

Yunho shook his head. “You’re all insane. You’re putting an entire  _ kingdom _ in line. We could easily send in someone else. Hell,  _ I _ could go and give him the cure.” 

“No, it has to be me.” Wooyoung grit his teeth. “He.. I might have to convince him to come back with me.” He left the unspoken words in the air, how likely their concoction may not work. “I’ll be fine. It’ll be quick and easy, just like Mingi said.” 

The vial was hooked securely in his belt. It had been safe the entire journey there, and Wooyoung ran a hand over his hip with a rush of relief. He had spent so much time worrying over its safety. The cure by his side kept him riding forward. 

“I’ve got this. Don’t worry about me.” 

He left then, the moon shining over his head as he slipped into the forests that surrounded Balor. He imagined his feet would be sore by the end of this, with all the walking he was about to go through, but he didn’t care. If he had to exchange a few blisters for San, he’d gladly do it a hundred times. 

Wooyoung could barely make out anything past the first few feet in front of him. It was scary, how dark forests could get at night, with trees casting moving shadows and branches obscuring the sky. He moved slowly, testing his footfalls and careful not to stir up too much sound. 

A twig snapped behind him, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. He hoped he was at least going in the right direction. It was hard to tell in the dark, and he kept his ears perked for any sound of scraping metal or voices. 

How was San going to react to seeing Wooyoung? He forced himself not to think of the worst-case scenario, but their last interaction played over and over in his head- how  _ cold _ San was. It didn’t help the tension in his body, the small ache in his stomach that almost made him want to vomit. 

Eventually, he made it to a clearing. He vaguely remembered it from his first trip there, and he sighed, leaning back against a tree. At least he knew he was going in the right direction. He couldn’t imagine how embarrassed he’d be if he got himself lost on the way there. Not only that, but the panic wouldn’t help either. 

He steeled himself and set forward again, only to freeze in his tracks a few seconds later. Up ahead, he could barely make out the movement of a large body. Along the way, the random woodland creature had thrown him off, but no- this was either a person or something big, and his mind raced over different scenarios and how they would play out. 

He stared, and he almost proceeded on when he heard a small laugh up ahead, and he froze twice over. 

“I guess my cover’s been blown, yeah?” 

_ Sena. _

So much for his plan. It looked like he’ll have to change it  _ again.  _

At least now, he didn’t have to lure her out on his own. She walked right to him. 

“That’s an impressive army you’ve amassed for such a small village,” she scoffed. “Is it really worth that many people?” 

Wooyoung forced himself to speak, his voice wavering between them. “You know why I’m here.” 

“And you know why  _ I’m _ here as well, yes?” 

No, he really didn’t. She wore warrior’s gear, a thin layer of chainmail over her shoulders and a sword at her side. 

Scratch that. She was there to kill him. 

He looked at the trees over her shoulder. Balor had been  _ so close. _

But now that she was there… 

“I’m still willing to negotiate peace, as long as certain conditions are met,” he said, getting pleasantries out of the way. He already knew her answer. 

“Hmm, you wouldn’t understand, Jung Wooyoung. I’ve only  _ wanted _ peace.” 

Wooyoung jolted back and hissed. “If you  _ truly _ want peace, why kill my father? You came to make a treaty with us, yet all you’ve done is incite war.” He shook his head. “Fucking hypocrite.” 

Sena laughed, a wicked sound- so different from the one she had during her stay. “If you really believe your father would have signed and kept that treaty, you’re more ignorant than I thought.” Her stance shifted, closed off yet still strong. “He was a monster. And you played the part of the sweet prince well, but we both know it’s an act.” 

“Just like yours was? What happened to the girl I grew to know in the castle? You were so  _ different.”  _

“I’m doing this for the good of my kingdom. Of  _ your _ kingdom as well. It’ll do so much better under me. Your family’s rule sickens me.” 

“I’m not my father. We can end the fights before they begin.” 

“That’s bullshit. He  _ raised  _ you.” 

“If I were like him, you’d already be bleeding out into the dirt,” Wooyoung sighed. “Do not make me pull my blade.” 

She laughed again. “Is that supposed to be a threat?” She pulled her own sword from her side and stuck it into the ground, movements brash. “I have magic, Wooyoung. Do you really want to duel me one on one?” 

He just wanted to see San again. God, why’d he have to let himself get caught on the way there? He was  _ so close. _ After the past few weeks, he just wanted to be comforted by the one person he loved. Was that selfish? Apparently, the universe thought so because it was making this  _ so goddamn difficult. _

Wooyoung was so tired. 

And then he realized it—his  _ own _ trump card. 

“If you want to  _ keep _ your magic, you’ll have to keep me alive.” He smirked. “Or did you forget how you’re able to  _ use _ it in the first place?” 

She scoffed. “You didn’t do anything special. There’s no evidence that magic is connected to you at all.” 

“Actually, you’re  _ wrong.  _ I know exactly how I did it.” He couldn’t help but grin. “With what you’re doing, I wouldn’t be surprised if your magic is growing  _ weaker.” _

Her eyes widened for a split second, and he latched on to it. 

“Yeah? I’m right, aren’t I? It’s harder for you to use magic now. Or better yet, you  _ can’t.”  _

“What did you do?” She glared at him. 

“Nothing.  _ You  _ did it to yourself.” 

He didn’t have  _ time _ to explain. Wooyoung edged to the side, wondering how obvious his actions were. It was pointless, really- she’d know right away where he was heading, if she didn’t know already. He’d have to get this over with quickly.

It happened in a split second. One moment, everything was relatively safe, and the next, Sena had a sword in her hand and it drew dangerously close to impaling him. Wooyoung jumped back, avoiding her thrust with wide eyes. 

“Sena, you might want to rethink this.” He held up his hands in a placating manner.

“You’re bluffing. You said it yourself- you didn’t do anything to bring magic back,” she seethed. 

Wooyoung took a wary step back. Her blade glinted under the moonlight- terrifying and, in her own words, inevitable. 

“If you want a fight, I’m not afraid to give you one.” 

“Good.” She swung into a defensive stance. “Show me how the  _ ‘best swordsman in the land’  _ ticks. Are you even worthy of the title? From what I can see, it’s a lot of talk and no show.” 

Wooyoung unsheathed his sword, its familiar grip a small comfort. “And  _ you’re  _ supposed to be smart.” His eyes narrowed, an event suddenly becoming clear in his head, and he grinned as the realization dawned on him. 

“This isn’t the first time you’ve tried to kill me, isn’t it?” 

“I’m surprised it’s taken you this long to figure it out.” 

He dropped into his own stance, mirroring hers in the middle of the clearing. “You would’ve had me fooled if they were more convincing. Those ‘bandits’ felt a lot like trained assassins, Sena. You want proof of my title? Ask the last man I left alive for you.” 

He took a tentative step the side, and Sena mirrored it. 

“Oh, I did. He gave us some valuable information,” Sena said. “The job could have been done right then and there, and Beomseok would have never connected it back to us with a marriage arrangement in the works, but  _ no. _ You had to have a pretty face with  _ magic  _ trailing at your every step.” 

_ “You put a quarrel through his back.”  _

“Not intentionally. And you forget  _ I _ was the one who saved him. Left to you, he’d be long dead.” 

That didn’t stop the fury from growing in his gut. 

“You made this too easy, Wooyoung. Do you really think I didn’t notice the way you looked at him?” she asked. “Your family’s downfall is entirely on your hands.” She swung,  _ hard,  _ and Wooyoung rushed to block it, his ears ringing with the echo of a sharp twang. He sprang to the side, a bolt whizzing through the air where he had just stood. 

She brought an extra man out here.  _ Dammit! _

Sena’s sword almost lopped his head off, and he flung himself back. 

_ Quick and easy, huh? _

He lurched past Sena, putting her in between him and where the arrow came from. This wasn’t a good situation to find himself in. Fuck, he wasn’t supposed to find Sena until  _ after. _ His hand tightened over the grip of his sword, watching her every move and scanning the treeline. 

It should be hard to aim in the low lighting, and Wooyoung was wearing dark clothes, too. He just had to hope they missed their shots. Although, it didn’t look too promising for him. 

After all these years, sword fighting was intuitive for him. Training, tournaments, and the occasional battle taught him how people move when they try to kill you. It taught him the subtle shifts of weight before a strike—how someone’s eyes betray where the sword would land. It was both art and strategy rolled into one. 

Wooyoung used to love the thrill, but now, all he could feel was fear. 

Sena was a good fighter. She knew how to read him just as he did her. His movements were limited as well. If she turned him around to the other side, he was as good as dead. 

San saved him from one crossbow bolt to the back, but it seemed there was another one not too far in his future. 

With a burst of speed, Sena nicked his forearm, but he couldn’t feel it. He stayed light on his feet, the sting numbed to him as he evaded her attacks. 

It was easy to fight like this, to get caught in the adrenaline and forget about everything else. This may be the person who killed his father, who took San away from him, but in the end, a fight just feels like any other—the rush of blows and close escapes, sweat gathering on his brow and breaths forced from his lungs. Even in the cool night, everything was hot, his nerves ready to burst at any moment. 

Metal clanged around them, and the whiz of a few bolts flying past his ears. There had to have been at least four shots. Once Sena went down, he’d have to rush her shooter or find fast cover. 

She gained the upper hand at one point, her blows raining hard on him. She hid a shitload of muscle behind her elegance, and Wooyoung was paying for it. Thankfully, her eyes stayed blue- no hint od gold in sight, and Wooyoung struggled to keep up. 

Damn, she really was good with a sword. 

His attention was too focused on her. An arrow came close to nicking his ear, and he froze for a second. With a triumphant laugh, Sena knocked him down to a knee. 

Wooyoung saw it then, behind her—the gleam of metal in the trees as they nocked another quarrel. It was the only warning he got before he rushed at Sena, ducking in front of her frame. The sudden movement caught her off guard, his sudden close quarters rending her sword almost useless. 

And then the bolt flew. 

He heard the impact before Sena’s body slumped against him, limp. He froze, the gurgle falling from her lips stunning him to silence. His heartbeat in his throat, he looked up. 

Sena’s man took the shot? 

Wooyoung’s eyes were wide, breaths falling in short gasps as he waited for something else to happen. He made out a heavy figure coming towards him, crossbow left behind in the trees, and Wooyoung tightened his grip on his sword. 

“Wooyoung, you’re an idiot if you really think Yunho let you go out like this on your own,” a voice called out to him, and Wooyoung let out a deep sigh when Jongho’s face grew clear in the dark. 

“Jongho, you nearly killed me with that thing! Who the fuck were you trying to shoot?” Wooyoung let Sena fall to the ground and shook his head. “You’re mad!” 

Jongho raised a fist in the air, jogging now to meet Wooyoung in the middle of the clearing. “I only took the last shot. That guy is going to have a nasty headache when he gains consciousness again.” 

Wooyoung smiled. “Well done, then. Did Yunho only send you?” 

“Yeah. And you’re lucky he did.” 

“I didn’t expect to meet her this early. I was hoping she wouldn’t know I was coming.” 

“You really have no self-preservation.” 

Wooyoung shrugged. His eyes trailed back to the body on the ground, an ache forming in his chest. The sight was too familiar, and when he closed his eyes, it brought him back to a simpler time, where it was  _ San’s  _ body laying there instead. 

But Sena was dead. Why didn’t Wooyoung feel any better? 

“I’ll take care of stuff here,” Jongho said. “Go on ahead.” 

With a small smile of gratitude, Wooyoung set off back into the trees, leaving the clearing behind him. 

  
  


Balor felt so different. It was a shell of what it used to be-even at night. The guards were sharp-eyed and alert, but Nala was right; it wasn’t too hard to slip around them. They were looking for escaping villagers or large-scale attacks, not a single person coming  _ in.  _ His dark attire helped blend him into the shadows, and he was careful not to let his feet shuffle loudly across the ground. He kept his hood pulled over and hands under his cloak, limiting his exposed skin that could be caught in torchlight. 

Even at a crawling pace, he found himself by Nala’s house in no time. Back in Sinsu, she had said this was where San was staying. The familiar house brought wisps of memories, and he let himself smile for a second. 

No one had noted Sena’s absence yet, and Wooyoung would like to get out of there  _ with _ San before that happened. 

When he was sure no one would catch sight of him, he swept over to the front of the house, testing the door, and he had to catch himself on the frame as it easily swung open under his palm. San wasn’t keeping the house locked. Granted, they never locked it when Wooyoung stayed over, but with all these soldiers walking around… 

He crept inside and pushed it closed, and on second thought, he slid the bolt in place. He didn’t know what would happen, but the extra security, no matter how flimsy, made him feel better. 

It was dark. He felt his way to the kitchen where it’d be easy to start a fire and light a few candles. San was probably asleep, and it’d be nice to talk to him with more than the moon lighting his face. It was fast work, and soon enough, Wooyoung couldn’t put it off any longer. He made his way to the room he shared with San earlier- San would either be there or in Nala’s room, and even in her absence, Wooyoung found it hard to believe San would intrude in her space. 

Even after all the noise he made in the kitchen, he wasn’t surprised to find San still asleep. San lay in a bundle of blankets exactly where Wooyoung thought he’d be. He called softly from the doorway, and when that didn’t work, he hesitated and walked in. 

He didn’t want to scare him. That was the last thing Wooyoung wanted to do. He carefully crouched down by the mattress, only pink tufts of hair visible over the blankets, and set a hand over where he presumed San’s shoulder would be with a gentle shake. 

“San? It’s me.” His voice shook, and he cleared his throat. “Come on, wake up.” 

San groaned, and Wooyoung grinned. So far so good. He got rid of Sena. He found San. Everything could go back to normal. 

San’s head turned to the side, eyes blinking blearily up at him. After all this time, Wooyoung was going to melt on the spot. 

“Wooyoung?” San squinted up at him. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

Wooyoung blinked, conflicted between the harsh tone of San’s words, and the joy of just  _ hearing _ San’s voice again. 

“We, um, we need to talk. Can you meet me in the kitchen?” He belatedly realized his hand was still over the covers, and he quickly took it away. “I know it’s a shock to see me here, but just humor me?” 

San sighed and sat up, stretching his arms out. Wooyoung had to keep himself from reaching over and patting his hair down, which stood in all directions. Morning San was always his favorite, love potion or not. It was a shame he didn’t get to see too much of it before his life turned to shit. 

“Is that an order?” San drawled, grogginess still in his voice. 

Wooyoung paused. “Yes, yes, it is.” 

San huffed. “Lead the way, then.” He fell back and buried himself back in the covers, and Wooyoung sighed. San  _ still _ had to make Wooyoung’s life difficult. 

“Are you… going to get up?” 

“Eventually.” 

This felt familiar. This felt  _ right. _ Did he even need the cure? San was talking to him like nothing happened, like nothing was  _ wrong. _ Yes, he seemed a bit harsh in the beginning, but Wooyoung  _ did _ just break into his house and wake him up, so he kind of deserved it. 

He ignored the knot in his throat and pushed at San’s side. “I’m being serious. I didn’t make this journey for you to be half asleep when I talk to you.” He got a hold of San’s shoulders and pulled him up again, muscles pliant under his hands. Wooyoung shook his head and turned away. “Put a shirt on and meet me in the kitchen.” 

“Whatever you say.” 

Wooyoung frowned. He got to his feet, and as a second thought, he grabbed at the blankets on the way, ripping them away and bunching them under his arms. San’s soft protests followed him, but he ignored them and headed out the door. He took a small detour and dropped the covers in Nala’s deserted room, trying to calm his beating heart on the way. 

It was a clean job. He couldn’t believe this was going so smoothly. The hard part was done, and all he had left was taking San home. 

Wooyoung stood by the table in the kitchen and leaned back against it. He unhooked the vial from his belt and turned it over in his hand. 

He didn’t have to wait long. San sauntered in a few minutes later, pushing his hair away from his eyes and swept it to the side. Once again, Wooyoung could never get enough of Morning San. In other circumstances, Wooyoung would walk over and hug him, but he held himself back. 

He took a deep breath. “Hi.” 

San’s eyes shifted uneasily over Wooyoung’s frame. “Okay… this is weird.” 

“No, no, I’m just.. nervous.” 

“Is there a reason to be?” 

Wooyoung bit his lip. “It feels like I haven’t seen you in forever,” he paused, willing himself to get to the point. “I, um, I found what you left for me. The book, and the instructions…” 

“Ah.” 

Wooyoung held out his hand, the vial resting on his palm. “I have it here.” 

San furrowed his brows. “How? You didn’t have all the ingredients.” He took a small step back. 

“It didn’t specify if the flowers had to be alive. Hongjoong has his supplies back in Sinsu. If this doesn’t work, you can come back with us and revive a few, and then  _ it’ll be sure to work.”  _

“Who said I want it?” San grimaced. “I’m perfectly fine with Sena. I’ll have to pass. I’m going to Essetir, remember?” 

So Sena’s death  _ didn’t  _ cure him already. Wooyoung’s arm began to shake. “At least try it? And from there, we can decide what to do,” he said.  _ “It’ll work.”  _

“I don’t  _ want  _ it. I’m in love. Do you really want to take that away from me?” San shook his head. “I’m sorry you traveled all this way, but I’m not drinking it, and I’m not coming back with you, either.” 

Wooyoung was afraid something like this would happen. He didn’t want to pull this card, but it seemed he had no choice. “I order you to drink this. You’ll finally see sense, then,” he said. “Do you dare defy the word of your King?” 

San wrinkled his nose. “I never listened to you in the past. Why do you think I’d start now?” And in the span of a moment, San’s eyes glowed gold, and the vial shot out of Wooyoung’s hand, crashing down to the floor. 

The glass broke easily, shards winking up mockingly at Wooyoung. Liquid spread under his feet, and for a split moment, Wooyoung saw a pitcher of water laying in it place. 

Wooyoung dropped to his knees with a sharp cry, cutting his hands on glass as he tried to save just a  _ bit.  _

“No, no,  _ no.”  _

It was too late. But it was okay. Dammit, he just needed to  _ bring San back to Sinsu.  _ A sharp sob lodged in his throat, chest tightening. It was okay.  _ This is okay.  _ He already knew it wouldn’t work. One of the ingredients was compromised for fuck’s sake. This could still end well. 

He looked up, only to see San’s impassive face staring back down at him. 

“All I need,” he leveled his breath, getting to his feet. “Is for you to  _ come back.”  _

“I’m happy where I am.” 

Wooyoung shook his head. “No. Not like you used to be.” He tentatively stepped forward and set a hand over San’s. “Don’t worry. I took care of Sena. Everything can go back to the way it used to be.” 

San’s stony face exploded, eyes growing wide and mouth dropping open. “What do you mean, you  _ ‘took care of Sena?’”  _

Oh god. He hadn’t meant to let that slip. 

“It’s.. it’s nothing. I’m rambling. I’m just being an idiot again. I don’t know what I’m saying.” 

San took a step back.  _ “What did you do?” _

_ “Nothing.”  _

“You’re a terrible liar.” 

A pause.

“San, she’s  _ fine.”  _ Wooyoung took a small step forward, holding out his hands. “See? Nothing. My sword is clean too. No blood.” 

“That means nothing.” San stumbled away from him and lurched over to the other side of the kitchen, picking up a knife with a trembling hand. “Stay back.” 

There was something feral in the way San moved. How could one spell cause this much damage? Wooyoung saw the pain, the  _ fear _ in San’s eyes, and it choked him up. 

He wanted this to end. He just wanted San to come back with him. Then, everything would be alright again. Why couldn’t  _ one thing _ be simple for him? 

Wooyoung slowly drew his sword, his other palm outstretched. San let out a small whimper, and Wooyoung stopped his movement and closed his eyes. When it was fully unsheathed, he let the blade fall to the ground. “I won’t hurt you. I  _ can’t.” _

He was unarmed: completely defenseless. San had a knife  _ and _ magic. All Wooyoung had left were words, and he’d never been good at using them, anyway. His last resort was force, but.. he  _ couldn’t.  _

Wooyoung didn’t know what to do.

“Where’s Sena?” San broke him out of his spiraling thoughts.

San  _ wouldn’t  _ come with him if he told the truth, and the panic kept building up, his words rushed. 

“She’s going to Sinsu.” 

The knife glinted between them. It was unsteady, light dancing on the blade as San’s arm shook. Wooyoung could push it away easily if he wanted to, but he held still. 

“San, I know there’s a part of you still in there. You left me the instructions for the cure, remember?” His eyes went back to the glass shards on the floor, the one thing that had given him hope on the journey there. “We can make another one. Sena… she’s already on her way back. We can meet her there.” 

“I know when you’re lying, Wooyoungie.” 

_ Wooyoungie. _

“It’s been a while since you’ve called me that.” Wooyoung smiled. This could still work. He needed to get into San’s head- to get  _ past  _ the magic. 

_ San was still in there.  _

“Do you remember when we first met?” The corners of Wooyoung’s eyes crinkled up. “You were a  _ mess.  _ Remember? It was your first day in the castle, too. I think about it a lot- if our relationship would be different if we met any other way.” 

He didn’t know where he was going with this, but it took the conversation away from Sena, so he kept talking, spinning away from what he had done in the forest. 

“Your first few weeks as my servant were  _ torture _ for me. Did you know that? I spent my days almost  _ disgusted  _ at myself for wanting to befriend you. You were so bubbly, and snarky, and.. and  _ good. _ ” 

San’s brows were furrowed, a frown on his face. Wooyoung watched carefully for any sign of recognition, for any soft touch to his expression. 

“Do you remember the jokes? All the fun we had together? I was so _cold_ to you, but you never let up. When I pushed against you, you always pushed _back._ It was exhilarating, but it was terrifying at the same time. I was so scared of what you’d do when you realized how much you grew on me.”

The knife lowered a bit, and  _ yes, he just had to keep talking.  _

“Do you remember training with the knights?” Wooyoung continued on, careful with his words. “Everyone expects me to be perfect, so when I make mistakes, they look down on me. When I fall, they turn a blind eye and silently judge, but  _ you..”  _ He smiled, and the now-familiar weight of tears brimmed over his eyes. “You  _ laugh,  _ and while I’m sure it’s somewhat mean spirited, it makes me want to laugh  _ with _ you.” 

The candles in the room went out then, wisps of smoke curling into the air and casting new shadows across San’s face. With a sharp inhale, Wooyoung paused as his eyes grew adjusted to the dim moonlight streaming though a window above them. He couldn’t see San clearly now, and he didn’t know if that made this harder or easier.

“You make me so much better. You taught me to stand up for what’s  _ right. _ And then you brought me  _ here, _ into your childhood home, and showed me what freedom feels like. I… I wanted to build a life here with you. Did you know that? I dream about it sometimes- running away with you.” 

Even in the dark, San visibly gulped, hesitation on his face, and Wooyoung knew  _ he almost had it. _

“For the first time in my life, I was scared of someone  _ leaving  _ me, and when I finally thought you never would, you…” He could feel them now—wet tracks against his cheeks. “You  _ did.”  _

“Wooyoung,  _ stop.”  _

_ “No. _ I miss waking up to your face every day. I miss the way you used to look at me. I never got to cook you your favorite meals. And now that my father isn’t.. I  _ can’t..  _ I can’t do this. Not without you.”

He paused, the silence a heavy blanket surrounding them. San took a small step forward, and Wooyoung sighed in relief. But as he grew closer, Wooyoung could see the hard-set lines on his face. “Stop changing the subject and tell me what you did to Sena.” 

_ No. Wait, go back.  _

Wooyoung shook. His hands trembled, and his button lip quivered as he tried to keep himself under control. He might have to knock San out. But the amount of force that would take… There was no way he could do it. Not  _ now,  _ and  _ never _ against San. 

“Just come to Sinsu with me. That’s all I ask. Your mum is there too. We can fix this together.” 

“You killed her, didn’t you? That’s why you won’t answer me.” San’s expression was blazing hot, and his knuckles were white around the hilt of the knife. He took a few more steps forward, forcing Wooyoung to stumble back.  _ “You killed her!”  _

Wooyoung’s back hit the wall. There was nowhere to go from there. He took a sharp inhale, telling himself to  _ breathe. _ “She drew her sword first.  _ I didn’t want to-”  _

San covered his mouth with his free hand, tears already spilling over this knuckles, and Wooyoung’s heart broke at his muffled cry. 

“I can help you. We can get through this together. The cure-” 

“I don’t want it.” San shook his head.  _ “How could you?”  _

He stood only a few feet away from Wooyoung, jaw locked and fury wavering across his face. Wooyoung had never seen him like this, and he knew then, that he failed. San wasn’t coming back with him. This was the end of their story. 

“Go on,” he said, defeated. “Killing me won’t change anything. What’s done is done.” 

It happened in a flash. Cold steel suddenly cut into the underside of his chin, and Wooyoung gulped, the sting incomparable to the shock of San against him after all this time. 

“Maybe I  _ should _ kill you,” San grit out, his face so close. “You  _ knew _ I love her, and then you turned around and did  _ this. I thought we were friends.”  _ Even in the dark, Wooyoung could see San’s cheeks blooming in anger. He brought a hand to it, not caring how San would react, the skin hot under his palm. 

“I know you.. you  _ think _ you love her, but you don’t. Not like how  _ I _ ..” He stilled, tracing the top of San’s cheekbone, pretending each breath didn’t rub steel against his throat. His lips parted to say the rest,—the line that could change everything—but San knocked their foreheads together with a hiss, pressing Wooyoung harder into the wall. He couldn’t  _ breathe,  _ the flat of the blade restricting his airflow.

So much for a confession. He screwed his eyes shut and tried not to focus on how close San brought them. His lungs burned for air, and blood trickled down his throat. 

Was this how he was going to die? A week into his reign and a breath away from his love? 

Fuck it. If San wouldn’t let him say it, he’d have to  _ show _ it instead. 

He hooked a hand around the back of San’s head, fingers threading through the pink hair he adored so much. It only took a slight pull, the blade shifting and nicking deeper into his skin as he leaned forward and captured San’s lips with his own, eyes closed. 

It hurt, and San could kill him any second now if he wanted to, but kissing San wasn’t the worst way a man could die. The knife restricted his movement, but he didn’t care. To him, it was all the soft press of San’s lips. 

San was stiff, unresponsive, almost. Wooyoung poured everything into it—all his broken pieces and months of longing,—but he couldn’t  _ breathe. _ With his free hand, Wooyoung desperately grabbed at the knife and tried to push it away, if only to prolong this moment a little longer. The blade cut lines into his palm, and he let out a soft whimper against San’s mouth. 

_ Please. _

Wooyoung didn’t even know what he was mentally begging for. San didn’t pull away, so that had to be good, right? Wooyoung leaned back to escape the blade digging under his chin, teary eyes instantly locking on to San’s. They were wide, but sharp. A cough built up in Wooyoung’s throat, and he resorted to clutching at San’s arm, blood smearing against the skin as he weakly tugged at it, choking on air. 

San froze, staring at him. His eyes slowly trailed from Wooyoung’s gaze to his throat before finally settling on his lips. He shifted back, brows slowly furrowing forward. “Woo.. young?” he whispered, his steel grip loosening. 

And then the knife wasn’t there anymore, metal clattering to the floor by his side. Wooyoung barely had time to catch his breath again before warm hands cupped his face. Thumbs swept over his cheeks, wiping away the moisture. But just as quickly, they were gone, and San stumbled back and turned away from him, moving through the kitchen with a stilted walk. 

Wooyoung knocked his head back against the wall. Everything finally caught up to him, and he rested- chest heaving, loose limbs and eyes closed. The adrenaline of the night finally drained out of him.

_ He kissed San. _

It wasn’t the ideal situation. He never imagined it would go down like this. In his head, their first kiss was always full of soft giggles and warm, fuzzy feelings- not desperation and one-sided..  _ everything.  _ At least it did  _ something  _ to San, as Wooyoung wasn’t gutted out on the floor right now. 

The side of his mouth quirked up. At least now he could die knowing San’s lips tasted like spring air and sunshine. 

Cloth rubbed up against his skin, and he hissed, eyes shooting open as San pressed a wet handkerchief over his neck. San’s earlier hesitation wrote itself on Wooyoung’s skin, horizontal lines spanning under his chin and at the top of his throat, cut just enough to draw small trickles of blood. 

Wooyoung held himself still as San wiped it away, silent.

San’s eyes were clear now, Wooyoung’s reflection winking back at him. He caught San’s wrist, and they both stilled. 

“Are you..” his voice was hoarse. “Are you… back?” His grip tightened as he waited for San’s response.  _ Anything. _

“I…” San bit his lip, looking away. “I think? I’m…” He sniffed, eyes wide and shiny. “I’m  _ so sorry. _ This.. this was all my fault. I-” 

“No, it wasn’t.” Wooyoung couldn’t stop himself from grinning. Everything was falling into place. Sena was gone, and  _ San was back, and.. _ Wooyoung set his hands on San’s waist, feeling him tense under his fingers. He pulled him closer. “Do you remember anything?” 

“Yeah...” 

“Then you should know you owe me something in return. To make up for everything you put me through.” 

San’s face lit up in confusion, and Wooyoung waited for the understanding to set in—for him to process how Wooyoung held him close, what he had  _ done  _ just a few minutes ago. 

“D-Do you want me to..?” San tripped over his words. Wooyoung could feel how San held his breath, eyes searching for an answer. At Wooyoung’s silence, he leaned over, noses touching and hesitation written across his face.

“Jesus christ,  _ yes,  _ I do _ ,  _ or so help me, I will  _ finally _ put you in the stocks where you belo-” 

San cut him off, pressing forward and cupping his cheek. Wooyoung gasped into the kiss, breath hitching and heart stopping. 

_ Finally.  _

San was kissing him back now, lips sliding slow and deliberate over his. Wooyoung wrapped his arms over San’s shoulders, a heavy relief washing over him. It was  _ San. His  _ San. They were going to be okay. 

A chorus of  _ ‘holy shit, holy shit, holy shit’ _ repeated in his head, and when he parted his lips to take a breath, San only pushed further, deeper. 

Wooyoung may not have magic, but this was as close as he’ll ever get to it. He  _ knew _ this would end in flames, but not like  _ this, _ his body on fire, San’s fingers hot coals against his skin. The only sounds between them were soft gasps, the slide of their lips, and Wooyoung’s thundering heart. 

It felt like hours before San leaned away and pulled him into a crushing hug. Wooyoung missed this more than anything. He missed  _ San, _ and he felt a sob building in his chest for different reasons, firm hands rubbing circles into his back and soft kisses pressed into his hair. Everything felt warm, his mouth searing hot as he nuzzled into San’s neck. 

He was so lost in this man. 

San hummed under his breath, and something warm melted in Wooyoung, eyes pressed closed and indulging in this new, yet familiar comfort. 

“I’m sorry,” San whispered, and his voice was small. 

Wooyoung clutched at the back of his shirt, fabric bunched under his palms. “You already said that.” 

“Well, there’s a lot to say sorry for.” 

Wooyoung shook his head, nose rubbing against San’s skin. “We can talk about that later.” 

San’s hand found its way to Wooyoung’s hair, scratching lightly at his nape. “I can’t believe I… I don’t know what was  _ real,  _ and I  _ hurt  _ you, and I-”

_ “Hey.”  _ Wooyoung pulled away and frowned at the tears gathering again in San’s eyes.  _ “Talk. Later.  _ I’m not mad at you.” 

“You should be.” 

Wooyoung smiled and pinched his cheek. “If I were you, I’d be more worried about Nala. She’s pissed off.”

San shuddered, and Wooyoung laughed, his grin growing manic as a pout formed on San’s lips. 

It’d been a while since he felt this way, contentment bubbling in him. He took in every expression on San’s face as something precious- small delicacies for only Wooyoung to enjoy. He let his eyes linger on his features, memorizing every detail before the universe decided to rip them apart again. 

They were a strange duo,—a King and his servant—but in rare moments like these, Wooyoung felt like everyone else. A stray tear fell from San’s eye, and Wooyoung hurried to wipe it away. Neither of them confessed, but Wooyoung could  _ feel  _ exactly what was happening between them, and he knew San did too.

“Can I kiss you again?” Wooyoung cupped his face. “Before we head back.” 

San hesitated, hands tightening against Wooyoung’s skin, and a smirk slowly spread across his face. “What’s the magic word?” 

Huh.

Wooyoung scrunched up his nose. “I can’t believe you haven’t even been back for an hour, and you’re already back on this shit.” 

“And  _ I _ can’t believe it took a love potion for you to learn common decency.” 

Wooyoung tugged San a little closer and pressed a kiss against the tip of his nose.  _ “Please.  _ Please come home.” 

San turned his head to the side and surveyed the darkened room, furniture frozen in time. His eyes held a soft glow in the moonlight, and Wooyoung knew he could easily drown in them. San focused on Wooyoung last, a sad smile on his lips. “Home is where you are.” 

Wooyoung laughed. “That’s so cheesy.” He pulled back and batted San’s shoulder, cheeks red in the dim light. 

“You liked it,” San caught his hands. “And it’s true. I’ll come.” 

“Good.” Wooyoung leant up and kissed the corner of San’s mouth, butterflies exploding in his stomach. “We should go before Yunho sends a party of knights down here to find me.” 

The corners of San’s eyes crinkled up. “I thought you wanted another kiss.” 

Well… who was he to say no? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the outline, I had this big battle planned out where Balor ultimately gets destroyed, but I changed it at the last second because I think I put these boys through enough. If anything feels anticlimactic… that’s probably why. Aand with that in mind, I’m putting this fic back at its original rating since I took the violent bits out. But hey— I like a good swordfight, and I’m satisfied with it. Maybe someday I’ll write the alternate version with fire and angst and all that jazz. I just… really wasn’t up to it the past few weeks. 
> 
> Buuuut.. the next chapter has a lot of fluff and closure. I hope you’ll stick with me to the end! ^-^ 
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/lynnt1ny) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/lynnt1ny)


End file.
